#i’m talking to ao3 writers right now

[b-1327-1]

WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE STORMTROOPER X READER FICS I’M DYING OVER HERE

[cellophanejpeg]

two is better than one | s. hanta ft. k. denki

s: What was supposed to be a night alone with Sero turns into something more once you see Kaminari is just as a freak as you are.

w: threesome, recreational drug use, smut, explicit smut, sex, smut smut smut

n: heyy, i have two more chapters left for these series, however i've reached a writer's block, so i'm not sure when they'll be posted lol. feedback is appreciated and i'll miss this story so much when it's done (i might be stalling a bit ngl). anyway, beta read by jemifiss as usual! | read on ao3

previous | next | start here

“Are you kidding me?” You whisper, stepping into Sero’s apartment.

“Sorry.” He takes the bags from your hands and closes the door behind you.

It’s been almost two months since you and Sero had some time for yourselves and tonight you thought you’d have a private moment in his apartment. However, upon entering his apartment, you notice Kaminari slouched over the living room couch. His face tells you he’s high out of his mind.

“He just showed up,” Sero explains, leading you to the kitchen.

“I thought we were gonna…” You trail off, hinting at the one thing you've been expecting all week.

“I know, sorry…” He's still smiling as he digs into the snacks you've brought.

“Are you–” you push his shoulder so he looks at you, “Are you high right now?”

Sero looks like a deer caught in headlights. His smile falters for a second, his eyebrows curl upwards, and he shrugs, getting caught.

“Guilty,” he says, giggling as if he was caught stealing from the cookie jar.

You groan, “Alright, you know what? I can come back another day–”

You're already walking out of the kitchen, ready to put your shoes back on and leave, when he runs after you, wrapping his big hands on your shoulders.

“Wait, no! We can watch a movie! Kaminari brought some brownies you used to like.” He pleads with a soft voice.

A sigh leaves your lips, shoulders sagging, “Hanta, you know I don’t do that anymore…”

When the war was over, you had to go back to school and pretend nothing had happened, which was proven to be the worst to happen. You used to have panic attacks, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t handle loud noises – one time, you even lashed out at Bakugou for yelling in class –, so Sero introduced you to edibles, as a last resort. It wasn’t until the school had started offering mandatory counseling sessions that you finally started to fall asleep without getting high.

“Okay, okay, so hang out with us?” Sero smiles at you, still gripping your shoulders tightly, “I miss just being with you… Not just fucking your brains out.” He chuckles under his breath.

You sigh again, closing your eyes.

“Fine. But if he eats all my snacks, I’m leaving.”

“Look who it is!” Kaminari exclaims when you enter the living room. You smile, plopping down on the couch beside him. Of all Sero’s friends, Kaminari is the one you’re closest to. You don’t talk to him on the regular, but you’re definitely more comfortable having a conversation with him than with anyone else in the friend group. Maybe it’s because he’s so close to Sero. Or maybe because he makes you laugh just the same. “You gotta tell me…” He slouches an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, “How big is it?”

“What are you talking about?” You frown, grabbing the remote to choose a movie for the three of you to watch.

“You know, Sero’s dick.”

You freeze, heart dropping to your stomach. Slowly, you turn your head to face Sero, on your left side. He’s drinking from a soda can when you start staring daggers at him.

“What?” he asks, noticing your furious eyes set at him.

“You told him?!” Your voice is louder than you intended, but it still makes Sero startle and Kaminari remove his arm from around your shoulders.

“I might have…” Sero brings his shoulders to his ears, slightly scared of you. He’s never seen you so angry like that before.

“Aw, c’mon, baby.” Kaminari chimes in, coming closer to your ear, “You don’t have to be embarrassed, it’s okay.”

“I’m not embarrassed!” You argue, trying to pull away from him, “I just never thought Hanta was the type to kiss and tell.”

Sero’s eyes widen as you stand up from the couch and face him. In a quick movement, he leaps from the couch and kneels before you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your lower belly.

“I’m sorry, angel!” He whines, “I was just so happy I couldn’t keep it to myself, I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

“What are you talking about?” You try to pry his arms open to be free of him, but his grip is too strong. You look down at his bloodshot eyes and something stirs inside you. Maybe it’s the way he kneels to you, the submissive look in his eyes, but you feel your face so hot that you have to look away.

“I’ll eat you out,” Sero quickly says, pushing your skirt up, trying to bunch up the fabric to have access to you, “I know it’s been a while–”

“Hanta!” You try to hold his hands, very aware that his friend is sitting on the couch, watching the scene. Your fingers desperately grip the hem of your skirt as your eyes shoot to Kaminari, who’s made himself comfortable by leaning back on the couch, sipping from his soda. He has a weird look on his face, like he isn’t shocked about Sero’s actions, “Wait– Kaminari is here–”

“He likes to watch,” Sero mumbles as he finally gets access to your underwear, pulling them down and pushing your skirt up.

“What–”

“And Sero’s always a horndog when he’s high,” Kaminari says.

Sero’s fingers slip in your folds, opening you up, his tongue following right after. You hold back a moan as realization falls on you.

“You’ve done it before?”

Kaminari breathes out a laugh, setting his drink on the coffee table and standing up. Sero pulls your underwear even further, a hand wrapping around your ankle so you lift it up, freeing one leg from the undergarment. He dives into you further, putting your free thigh on his shoulder. In a second, Kaminari is behind you, hands slipping under your shirt and tickling your waist.

“You mean have we fucked before?” He says in your ear, “Or have we shared someone? Because the answer is yes, either way.”

The thought of Sero and Kaminari – and probably someone else – in bed makes your breath hitch. You’re shocked to find out your childhood best friend is a horny bastard, but the idea turns you on more than you’d like to admit. Or maybe it’s the way Sero’s tongue rubs deliciously against your clit as his fingers nudge your entrance.

“And you know what, angel?” Kaminari whispers, licking your earlobe, “I’m also a horndog when I’m high.”

His mouth latches at your neck, giving your skin open mouthed kisses, sucking and nibbling, and you can’t hold back anymore. Sero’s fingers finally press inside you, now that you’re wet enough, and you have to hold yourself on his shoulders for balance. If it wasn’t for Kaminari’s grip on you, you’d definitely have fallen over already.

“She likes that.” Sero mumbles against you, when you squeeze his fingers inside you, as Kaminari nibbles your ear, sending chills through your skin.

“Hanta…” Your hands tangle in his hair as you slightly grind on his face.

“Say the word, and we’ll stop.” Kaminari’s hands slip under your shirt further, until they reach your breasts. He grabs them with a light grip, massaging the muscles, until he finds your nipples and pinches them softly. A whine escapes your lips, your orgasm already building inside you.

A turn from your head and your lips press against Kaminari’s, kissing him fervently, the more you feel pleasure growing in your lower stomach. You squeeze your eyes shut as Sero’s fingers curl inside you, pressing on that spongy spot that makes you go crazy. A particular twist of your nipples, combined with a suck of your clit, have you coming undone, whining into Kaminari’s mouth. Your legs almost give out, but he holds you in place as Sero stands up and grabs your chin, pulling you away from his friend.

Sero kisses you roughly, hands pulling your shirt up to expose your breasts. His rough hands squeeze your breasts, harshly pinching your nipple and making you whimper. You notice he’s more dominant when he’s with Kaminari, who’s softer and gentler. Sero’s lips leave yours so he can kiss Kaminari, only pulling away so he can pull your shirt over your head, discarting it on the floor.

“Bed. Now.” He squeezes your cheeks before pulling you and Kaminari by the wrists towards his bedroom.

Kaminari undresses his shirt on the way to Sero’s room, unbuckling his belt as you reach the bed. Sero is already shirtless, pulling his sweatpants down, and rummaging his bedside drawer. He pulls a pack of condoms from it and rips one off, throwing it at Kaminari who laughs at his eagerness. Meanwhile, you try not to think about what is happening as you take your skirt off, finally baring yourself completely to the two men in the room.

Sero lies on the bed, back against the headboard as you crawl over to him. His cock sits hard against his lower abdomen when you wrap your delicate hands around it. You stroke him, licking the tip and going slow, like you know he likes. Kaminari positions himself behind you, fidgeting with the condom Sero tossed at him, and you twitch, anticipation pumping in your veins. He lifts your hips, having your ass up, runs his fingers through your folds.

“Fuck,” Kaminari whines as he pushes inside you. You’re so wet and open from your last orgasm that he slides in easily, as he refuses to give you time to adjust to his length.

A gasp leaves your lips as Sero’s hand flies to the back of your neck, the other cupping your cheek. You roll your eyes back as Kaminari sets on a punishing pace, much rougher than you’re used to. A squeeze of your cheeks makes you refocus your eyes on the man in front of you, who watches you intensely. If you weren’t being fucked out of your mind, you’d notice the moment of soberness in his eyes.

The way your body bounces back and forth with each thrust from Kaminari, the moans that leave your mouth, the trembling from pleasure of your hands as you stroke Sero – all these details give him a weird sensation in his chest. Is he having a panic attack? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened while he was high. But, no. This is unlike any other feeling he’s ever had. He’s always wanted to be with you in a carnal way, but this is something else.

He leans down to kiss you, soft lips a contrast to the rough pace of Kaminari, and then he pushes your head down, leading you towards his cock again. He doesn’t want to feel his heart thumping for no reason. So he makes you wrap your lips around him, pushing you further, until he hits the back of your throat and you gag. Your fingers tighten their grip on Sero's thighs as you force your way out of his hold, gasping for air.

“Can't breathe!” You exclaim, wet lips and tears running down your face.

Kaminari’s thrusts falter, recognizing the look of worry in Sero's face as he cups your face again and brings you to a kiss.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Sero whispers, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your nose, “I'm sorry, angel.”

The softness in his voice would've had your stomach doing backflips, if it wasn't for Kaminari pounding his cock inside you. Prompted by a look of reassurance of his best friend, Denki resumed his rough pace, making you gasp again. Sero pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you, at the same time Kaminari does the same, fingers digging in your hips and pulling you roughly towards him. You all adjust the position, so your face is resting against Sero's chest, but your ass is still up for Kaminari. 

“Can't believe you were keeping this cunt all to yourself,” Kaminari groans, slapping your ass cheek roughly as he pushes his cock inside you again. You yelp, shutting your eyes with pleasure.

“You like it?” Sero mumbles to you, “You like when he's rough like that?”

You murmur a whine in response that he assumes is a yes. Sero cups your breasts gently, such a contrast to Kaminari's harsh  movements.

“Are you gonna come all over his cock, like the good girl you are?”

“Fuck, keep talking like that and I'm gonna come all over,” Kaminari grunts, slapping his hips on your ass.

“That's a good thing I'm not talking to you then,.” Sero barks back, and you'd laugh at their interactions if it wasn't for the fact you felt an overwhelming orgasm coming.

Then, Kaminari does something that has you almost breaking down. He presses his thumb on your back entrance, as if he's going to finger it. It's just a tease, but it's enough to make you see stars as you succumb to your pleasure, letting all out on him, on the sheets, everywhere.

“Whoa!” Kaminari laughs, “Why didn't you say you were a squirter, baby?!”

Because I'm not, you want to say, but you feel like you're going to pass out. You barely register him slowing down his thrusts and cursing as he comes, following right behind you. You just collapse on Sero's chest, trying to focus on his face. He's half soft now, and you feel bad because you don't think you can handle one more round.

“You didn't come,” you whisper as Kaminari leaves for a moment to fetch a towel so he can clean himself.

“I don't mind,” Sero whispers back.

“But–” you try to wrap your hands around him again, but he just holds it, lacing your fingers together.

“It's okay, angel.”

Before you can argue further, Kaminari is back with a fluffy towel and, soon enough, he's wiping your legs, drying as much as he can.

“Bath?” Sero asks, rubbing his thumb on your cheek.

“Yes, please.”

“Your wish is my command.” He kisses your forehead, hopping off the bed and going toward the bathroom.

Kaminari scoffs as he lays on his back, wiping the sweat from his forehead and sighing heavily.

“What?” You ask, pulling the sheets up to cover your chest. Not that it would do anything to hide your body from him now that he's seen everything. You're trying not to think about how you're going to face him in the next group hang out, when he answers your question,

“He must really like you. Sero's never satisfied until he's finished,” Kaminari laughs again, “And running you a bath? I mean, he gives aftercare, but he's not exactly the king of it, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Confusion is clear in your voice as you lean on your elbow to face him better.

“All I'm saying is that, every time we've been together, he's never acted like that.” He explains, “Maybe he's got a soft spot for you…”

You try not to hold on to the hope he might have the same feelings as you, but it's stronger than you. The way he's been so soft to you during this entire night has the butterflies inside your stomach going crazy. Your heart skips a beat at the possibility of you and him staying together.

“What are you guys talking shit about?” Sero resurfaces from the bathroom, still naked, leaning on the doorframe. You hold back a dreamy sigh.

“You,” Kaminari replies, a shit eating grin on his face.

Sero groans, rolling his eyes at his friend.

“Anyway.” Kaminari jumps out of the bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Same time next week?”

Sero groans even louder as you bark out a laugh.

@lousypotatoes @shoyosdoll @fresa-luna @crazyvalerie1236 @siillkie

[wonwoosthetic]

Can you recommend joel miller series?

Hii, of course!😊

I’m sure some of them have been recommended many many times before but that’s just bc they’re actually THAT good, so here are the ones that I’ve read multiple times by now ˙ᵕ˙

You want feels? You want emotions? You want drama and love? Overprotective hot Joel Miller?Read this:

i know who you are by @punkshort

What about a good slow-burn playing in Jackson where you just can’t help but want more from Joel than just a one night stand but it will take time? Here you go:

a stranger’s heart without a home by @morning-star-joy

As if these weren’t already enough emotional, get ready for this two-parter that will absolutely WRECK you in the best way possible😭 I never knew hurt/no comfort could ever be so beautiful:

“You’re the loss of my life” by @stylesispunk (warning: I cried ever time I’ve read this and it’s been about like five times 😭😭) also: another INCREDIBLE writer, you can honestly just read through her entire masterlist, you will NOT regret it!!!!!👏🏼🫶🏼

THIS is THE hurt/comfort series! I absolutely love the structure of this story so much, I’ve read it like four times already haha😬 Joel is just so irresistible that even after 20 years, this man has the audacity to captivate you again. Get ready for a wild ride of emotions with this:

Woman by @dancingtotuyo

But these aren’t enough? You want even more angst? You want to see Joel truly REGRET things? This one’s for you:

invisible string by @toomanystoriessolittletime

Okay, we’ve cried and screamed enough, time for something a little bit more gentle. Something that will pull you in and just not let you go? With just a bit of angst but the wonderful rom-com vibes that we all love? With the perfect neighbour!Joel storyline? This is the one:

Nicest Things by @schnarfer

Now what about a perfectly outlined AU with a fresh start and leaving the past behind only to find a hot Joel Miller as a sheriff?? If you’re interested:

somewhere to run by @punkshort (a second mention, so honestly, you can read absolutely everything she wrote, she’s an absolute genius and I’m in AWE of her talent)

Okay, now this one has become a Joel Miller classic but how dare I not mention it. It’s complicated, it’s unsure, but literally both are in love with each other and it’s perfect earning and UGH just incredible:

texas sun by @from-the-clouds

What about sneaking around with hot Jackson!Joel who cares all too much about Ellie but is also just so enthralled by you? Too jealous to let anyone else touch you but too much of an idiot to put a label on it? Here we go:

But I Would Die For You In Secret by @wheresarizona (I have to put a quick extra note right here: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read everything by her!!!! Learning to Live (Javier Peña x Reader) is literally one of my all time favourite series across all of the fandoms I’m in and September is also just INSANE, the writing talent this woman has is out of this world!!!!)

What do we want? THE SWEETEST JOEL? Where can we find him? RIGHT HERE! Get ready for just the most comfortable fic you’ll probably ever find and just UGH the cutest fucking Joel Miller:

Elks by @whocaresstillthelouvre

Loner Joel that makes you feel less lonely after you find your place in Jackson? Ooooh, that sounds good, right? Well, this story was perfectly written and you can read all about it here:

Yearling by @justagalwhowrites (edit: I realised way too late that this incredible writer also writes Lavender, which I read through on AO3 and I seriously couldn’t put my phone down and talked to my bestie who doesn’t even know about tlou and got her to read it!)

OKAY NOW LISTEN. This writer right here is one of my all time faves and I’ve read this series too many times to count and I just can’t get enough of it. SO, a perfectly written relationship with Joel Miller that gets you through the day of the Outbreak, all through those 20 years and even during your adventure with Ellie. This right here. You NEED to read this:

A Future Together by @kteague (note: if you want the best Frankie Morales fic ever, read Because Of You, istg the amount of times I’ve read it is insane and I still go back to it and re-read bc I just- it’s just- I can’t even put it into words)

I think we need some humour. We’ve had hurt, we’ve had comfort, romance, but what about a good collection of one shots that you can laugh to? Who would’ve thought going through a pregnancy can look this fun? Well, with someone like Joel Miller by your side, of course:

Joel Dealing with his Preggo Wife by @pedge-page

Most of the stories above have some smut in them (some more, some less), BUT, I know you guys. And I know myself. And I know that sometimes all you need is a good hoey story (Yes, I may have just made that word up). What do you do when you have a shitty boyfriend who lives with his hot fucking hunk of a single dad? Exactly, you fuck the dad:

boyfriend’s dad!joel by @joelscruff

Buuuuuuuut, what if you want to be live in a bit more delulu world where you can be a hot singer with a hot bodyguard that has to try to keep his hands off of you as hard as possibly can but just snaps? Warning: Hot hot HOT! Hehe, well, then I think you might enjoy this:

Her Bodyguard, His Shining Star by @mermaidgirl30

I also have to add: there’s one series where you match with Joel on Bumble (I think… maybe it was Tinder…) where Ellie and Sarah created a profile for him and I remember reading and absolutely LOVING it, but I can’t find it😭😭 so, if anyone else knows what I’m talking about, pls let me know! In the meantime, I’m keeping a placeholder for it here:

single dad!Joel Miller with daughters that just want what’s best for him by a fucking genius writer

I hope there’s something on here for everyone to enjoy! ˙ᵕ˙

If anyone has more recs that they think deserve a mention, please let me know or just mention them in the comments!!☺️ There’s so many amazing authors, I just went down my likes and saw what I had saved and what I remembered really enjoying, but I know there’s a lot more!!🫶🏼🤍

[differentnerddiplomatopera]

Stray Gods x Odypen/Odydio/Odydiopen

To Odysseus

You’ve got one big mouth on you, don’t you?

Yet it’s me who’s closing in

Think I like that mouth on you… Won’t you?

So as a Fic…I see this as many ways

These sentiments maybe when:

Odysseus courts Penelope, he smooth talks her, whatever and she says something along the line of this.

Odysseus sweet talking himself out of trouble. Pen witnesses his wit and talks to him after.

Diomedes is annoyed due to Odysseus. Odysseus says something smart. Diomedes responds with “You’ve got one big mouth on you, don’t you?” I like that with them.

Odysseus tries to encourage/annoy Diomedes. Dio isn’t in the mood for it, say’s something like, “I love that pretty voice of yours, you know that, but I need you to shut up right now?” Odysseus is flustered or whatever.

After the Odyssey, the three of them are in bed. And Odysseus is snoring like nobody’s business (ha), Diomedes is so confused how Ody’s snoring is still cute after all this time. Pen tells him to accept it. Ody starts sleep talking, Pen and Dio start responding as if Odysseus is actually talking. (Just being cute together like)

Odysseus: Pennn, you so pretttyyy

Diomedes: Yes, I can concur

Penelope: Don’t have to tell me that, I’m gorgeous.

Diomedes: Humble much?

Odysseus: Dio, you gottsome pretty (voice drops) DEAD (normal voice) eyes

Penelope:

Diomedes: …what the actual fuck?

(Muffled Laughter) Penelope: what-why did his-holy shi-(pen commences to wheeze her ass off)

Diomedes: Am I- am I supposed to be flattered? Or offended-cause could it be my eyes are both pretty and dead looking-

Penelope: (still laughing) nononono you-you gotta say it like he did, DEAD, haHAA-

Diomedes: Or my eyes look pretty-

Penelope: I’m not listening to you unless you say it properly.

Diomedes: Fine, DEAD, cus we could-

Penelope: (eyes tearing up, body shaking, back breaking laugh)

Diomedes: I’m gonna sleep in the guest room.

Penelope: No wait-

Odysseus: getcHO ASS BACK HERE NEOWWWWWW

Diomedes:

Penelope:

Diomedes: is- thefuck- is he still asleep?

Penelope: Yes, but does it really matter? Through sickness and in health and cute insults, get back here.

Diomedes: when you wake up, we are gonna have a talk.

Screaming *Odysseus: (turns his head 180 degrees like owl) I AM GOING TO EXPLAIN TO YOU ABOUT HILL AND HORSE, SHUT YOUR- inhale* EYESSSSSSSSSS

Diomedes:

Penelope:

Diomedes: Nah. Mm no. Troy was fine, this is crap.

Penelope: He said I’m pretty.

headcanon (after the Odyssey, Odysseus sleep talks/walks a lot, sometimes it’s sweet, funny, kinda creepy, other times it’s sad and heart breaking. But they got him. They hug and give Odysseus kisses when he wakes up)

Yeah. Fic writers, please write. Especially since they are planning to take Ao3 down. Why can’t they just leave the good stuff alone 😭🥲

[starless-nightz]

Hello everyone, if you haven’t already realised, I’m quitting.

It has been a good run, i've been writing here on tumblr for about 2-3 years now, but I think it’s time that i move on, at least from this blog and this identity.

I no longer feel comfortable on my own blog, it used to be my safe space but it isn’t anymore, now i barely even open the app, writing doesn't bring me comfort anymore, it’s starting to feel more like a chore to me rather then bringing me comfort.

I want to foucus on myself more, my life isn’t the best and i'm not in the right headspace right now. I really appearance all the support you all have given me over these past 2-3 years, especially to old time followers and mutuals who have stuck with me throughout all my blogs, I love and charish all of you, but it’s time to move on.

To all my dear mutuals, I love and respect you guys so much, I hope you all have amazing and wonderful lives, I will still be checking this blog for a few more days until i move to my private blog, so feel free to messenge me if you wish to talk to me or know about the blog.

This is all i have to say, I love you guys so much, but its time to move on, i might come back in the future either on here or under a different name as a writer since I still love writing (i wouldn’t be writing on my new private blog anytime soon), but I will no longer be active on here, but till then i will only be on my private blog, i will still be posting from time to time on my wattpad and ao3 account (both Runassimp) so if you wish to continue reading my works you can do it on there.

This goodbye wouldn't be forever, you will see me again one day. Till then I hope you all have a good, healthy and amaizing life.

-With love, Ray

tagging some of my mutuals: @n0tamused @hunnieknight @wyuovvia @roxvelle-girlkisser @ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay @kyokiiro @dollycxre @star-girl69 @asvterias

[2baabbies]

🖤 Knee Socks (Changbin x Reader) 🖤

Crossposted under 2Babbies on Ao3 <3

(decided to crosspost this today for all the changbin fuckers, I hope you like it 🫶🏻)

Pairings: established frenemies changbin x reader, to lovers

Words: 4100

Summary: Changbin stops by uninvited to pick up the jacket you borrowed from him. You are annoyed that he has interrupted your down time on your day off, but maybe he’ll find a way to make it up to you?

(inspired by the Arctic Monkeys song!!)

Humour + Fluff + Smut

afab + fem!reader

CWs: reader and binnie are mean and they swear at each other but they actually looove each other, playful insults are thrown around, picking on your crush to hide your real feelings??, jokes about murderers/getting murdered, gamer girl!reader, changbin projects on reader based on how she’s dressed (but they’re both down bad so it’s fine)

Smut Tags: taunting/teasing, explicit consent because consent is sexy, big dick changbin, changbin sock fetish, slight dom dynamics but reader and bin are both kind of switches in this one, changbin going down on reader, some edging, vaginal fingering, begging, praise, slight degradation, handjob, mutual/guided masturbation, dirty talk, confessions during sex

!!ATTENTION!!

Reposting this fic to other platforms, including as a translation, is expressly prohibited. Do not copy, alter, or claim this fic as your own. Absolutely no permission is given to anyone to post my works, even with credit, and this fic should only appear on Ao3 or Tumblr under my accounts. Reposting is not only plagiarism, but a direct violation of my wishes as the original writer and owner. Please respect writers and don’t steal!

Likes, reblogs, asks and comments are very welcome and appreciated <3

~~~

The fourth phone call in three minutes prompts some concern, so you forfeit your competitive match to give the caller your full attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing?” Changbin responds casually.

“I’m trying to rank. Is something wrong?”

“Rank? Christ, are you playing that stupid game again?”

“Felix is two whole levels above me!”

“… So?”

“Felix isn’t even good, he’s not allowed to be two levels higher than me!”

There is a pause on the other end and you think he may have hung up before he speaks.

“So that’s what you’re doing? Wasting your day away on your computer?”

“Why are you complaining? I went out with you and Chan last night. And I don’t have another day off for two weeks, so I have to grind as much as I can today. And fyi, you’re putting me at a disadvantage. I just left a match to answer your stupid call because I thought you were getting murdered or something. That could’ve been a win.”

“You think I would call you if I was getting murdered?”

“Yeah, I think you would. You know why? Because you’re stupid.”

“Hey hey hey, be nice.”

“What do you want? You’re wasting my precious time.”

“You stole my jacket last night, e-girl, I’m here to get it back.”

“I’m not an e-girl- wait, you’re here? Right now?”

“Wasting away in the lobby. Waiting for someone to come and murder me.”

You stand up from your chair and pad out of your room to your intercom. You hang up your phone and shout into the speaker.

“Quit loitering, shithead!”

“Fuck you!” Changbin shouts back.

You unlock your apartment door then buzz him in.

“Doors are unlocked. Your jacket is on the couch. Get your shit and get out.”

You hear him giggle maniacally as he opens the now unlocked lobby door and roll your eyes before returning to your bedroom. You quickly queue for a new match and put your headphones on. You join in immediately and the sound of Changbin entering your apartment is drowned out by the sounds of the game. You think you hear him say something from the other room but you opt to ignore him to maintain your kill streak. The match ends with a win and Changbin startles you as he speaks up beside you.

“You have an addiction, you know that right?”

You pull your headphones down and glare at him.

“Dude! What are you still doing here?”

“Look at this,” He picks up one of the many empty energy drink cans scattered across your desk, “You’re going to have a goddamn heart attack. I told you to lay off these. And your desk is a mess!”

“Shut up! Why are you in here?”

“You left your door unlocked. Not safe. That’s how murderers get in.”

You groan.

“Stop lecturing me! You were two minutes coming up, at most.”

“Yeah, but what if I wasn’t? And what if there was a murderer who was waiting just outside your door? Did you think of that, Ms. Noise-Cancelling-Headphones?”

“But there wasn’t a murderer! You’re just an idiot!”

You spin your chair towards him, clenching your fists in exasperation. He huffs and crosses his arms, his blue jacket slung over his broad shoulders. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he swallows before looking away.

“What the Hell are you wearing?”

You look down at your attire as you sit cross-legged in your gaming chair. You had expected to spend the whole day inside, so your outfit was not exactly guest appropriate but it suited your personal comfort level just fine. You are wearing a thick oversized sweater that drapes over your lap, no pants, topped off with fluffy socks that cover your legs and end just above your knees. The sweater hangs low, doing little to cover your chest and cleavage, and the socks squeeze the plush insides of your thighs. Normally you would have been more embarrassed dressing this way in front of your friend, but Changbin had not been invited into your room and you were still annoyed at him for taking up your personal time.

“What’s wrong? They’re just my pajamas.”

“You sleep in that? Fuck, you really are an e-girl.”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s comfy. And look, the socks have beans.”

You lift your leg to show the bottom of your foot, where cat paws are printed on the socks. He slaps your leg down firmly.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why? There’s beans!”

“I can see that.”

You notice a dark blush dusting his cheeks as you go to lift your leg again. This time he holds your leg down by your thigh to prevent you from lifting it.

“Would you stop that? Have some modesty will you?”

“Modesty? They’re cat socks.”

“And you’re wearing them like some sort of pervert.”

You curl up in your chair and turn back to your pc.

“Lee Know would appreciate them.”

“Yeah, he probably has a catgirl fetish. He’s your target audience.”

You glare softly at him.

“I’m telling him you said that. And there’s no audience. This is just how I dress when I’m alone.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s not supposed to be weird men in my room!”

He blinks in surprise then gapes, offended, at your words.

“I am not a weird man. Take that back.”

“You just called me a pervert. Because of cat socks.”

“I’m sorry! But don’t flash me!”

“Flash you?”

He points at your lap, and this makes you blush. All you see is the gap of bare flesh not covered by your sweater or your socks. You throw your hands up in defeat as he gestures impatiently, and his attention on your thighs suddenly makes you self-conscious. You slap your hands down to cover them.

“There! Happy?”

“Not that! You were- your legs- just don’t spread your legs open when you’re not wearing any clothes, yeah?”

“These are clothes.”

“You’re not wearing pants, and you might not be wearing underwear either.”

You scoff.

“You think I’m not wearing underwear? Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I’m not a freak.”

“Prove it.”

You peer at him.

“That I’m not a freak?”

“That you’re wearing underwear.”

“You’re weird as fuck man.”

You kick your legs up on the desk, knocking a few cans to the floor in the process. Changbin grumbles about your slobbish habits and picks the cans up, then storms out of your room. You wait a moment for him to return and when he does not, curiously get up from your chair to check on him. You spot him in the kitchen from your doorway and pause to watch him. He has his hands braced against the counter and his head lowered as he takes measured breaths. He notices you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you, his jacket is still slung over his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Your eyes flit over his arms, flexing as he grips the counter. Then they roam over his black shirt, tightly fitted over his biceps and abs, then down until they land on the unmistakable bulge in his slacks. You look back up to meet his gaze. He looks wrecked, watching you with heavy eyes as his cheeks burn with shame.

You jump as something falls in your room and hits the floor, bringing you both out of the silent trance you had been in for who knows how long.

“What was that?”

You shrug.

“Murderer. Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“My apartment’s haunted. That’s why I never have anyone over.”

He laughs with a hint of strain.

“You’re funny.”

“Changbin.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll go, just give me a second,” He rasps.

You do not give him a second. You clear your throat and tug your sweater off in one quick swoop. He stares, wide-eyed, as you toss it to the floor and cross your arms. You stare back at him, wearing nothing but a comfy sports bra, your underwear, and your knee socks. The underwear are lame, not even a cute pair. They are the kind with a little satin bow, pink with faded prints of flowers and bunnies, and a small rip in the frilly waistband. There is nothing sexy or enticing about them.

Changbin’s cock strains against the zipper of his pants, no doubt aching to be released. He exhales slowly as his eyes skim over your body. He audibly swallows then looks away.

“What’s wrong? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked woman before. You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

He groans and throws his jacket to the floor then begins crossing the room, tearing his shirt off next in the process. You back up into your room, tripping over another discarded can then falling back on your bed. You sit up just as he enters the doorway. Suddenly, he pauses. He grips the top of the doorframe, giving you a clear view of his muscles at work. You nonchalantly check him out as he pants softly. Then, he points at you.

“You’re the devil, you know that right?”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you.”

“Are you trying now?”

You gnaw on your lip and eye his crotch again lazily. Then you shrug.

“Not particularly.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Look at how you’re dressed.”

“I didn’t dress to impress anyone today, Binnie. Who would even see it? Look at me, why would I wear ratty underwear and a sweaty sports bra if I was trying to look sexy? I’ve been a good girl, you’ve been the bad boy thinking dirty thoughts.”

You emphasize your statement by propping your legs up and spreading them open. He shivers and takes in the clear view of your scantily clad figure.

“y/n,” He says seriously, “I need to know before we go any further if you want this? I’ll stop the moment you ask, I promise, but I want to know before I do something stupid if you even want to keep this going or if you’re just teasing me. Because I… really want you, and I think I’m gonna lose it if we keep this up for much longer.”

You smile and respond softly.

“I trust you, Binnie. I know you would never hurt me. So whatever you want to do, you can do it to me.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Take your panties off, please.”

You smirk at his hesitant order but obey it. You hook your thumbs into the elastic of your panties and slide them off, taking your time and keeping your legs spread as you complete the process. He watches you greedily, drinking in the sight of you as you pull your bra off next. You discard both garments to the floor carelessly, then dip your thumb in the cuff of your sock and begin pulling it down.

“No. Leave those on.”

You pull your hand away, fluttering your fingers playfully and tilting your head. He finally enters the room, crossing slowly and kicking the can away when he meets it. He stops at the end of the bed. You hold your breath as he stares down at you, and watch as he reaches down to caress your ankle then gently grasps your calf. You let out a shaky breath right before he drags you to the end of the bed by one leg. You gasp as the bottoms of your thighs come flush to his knees.

He meanders fixing your knee socks one at a time. He tugs them up to hug your thighs and runs his thumbs just under the bands to touch the soft skin beneath. You shudder when he looks at you, then grabs your other thigh and squeezes both of them. Your legs quiver as he holds them open and massages underneath your thighs.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?”

You nod and he shakes his head.

“Say it.”

“I’ll tell you. But I don’t want you to stop. I really don’t want you to stop.”

Changbin falls to the floor on his knees and grips the tops of your socks, he then hikes your legs over his shoulders. You gasp and clench your fingers in the bedsheets when he dives in to lap at your pussy.  You throw your head back and release a pitchy moan as he slowly mouths at you. His fingers curl to stretch the fabric of your socks and your thighs hug his face as he prods you open with his tongue. 

Despite how ruined he looked and how wired he said he felt, he eats you out with an astounding amount of restraint. He rolls his tongue inside between filthy open-mouth kisses, eyes boring into yours as he makes obscenely wet noises. You are not sure if they come from his saliva or your arousal, but it makes your core ache nonetheless. You throw one hand against your forehead and slap the other down on the bed as he continues his tortuous pace.

“Changbin,” You whine, the last part of his name fading off in a squealing moan.

“Mhm,” He peppers a few kisses on the insides of your thighs and nuzzles his cheeks there gently, “What is it, baby?”

“Stop teasing…”

He punctuates his response with a long, deep, kiss right on your clit. You cry out in frustration as he smirks down at you.

“No.”

“Binnie…”

“You teased me, it’s my turn, honey.”

You huff and mewl as he resumes eating you out.

“But I… I didn’t…”

He groans, rumbling your heat as he does so. You buck your hips and moan as he begins picking up the pace, then breaks away. You whimper and glare at him as he licks his lips clean.

“Stop…”

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks breathlessly, “Or do you want me to give in to you?”

“Will you please just fuck me?”

His breath hitches at how soft and desperate your voice sounds. He shakes his head and brings his lips to your heat again.

“Why?” You cry, tears pricking as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release.

“Shhh, patience, baby. Patience.”

You run your fingers through your hair and arch your back as you grind against his face. He finally grants you relief when he props his elbows on the bed, your thighs still straddle his face, and he pushes three of his fingers between your folds. He buries his face in your heat and fingerfucks you, continuing to do so until you climax. You can only make mindless, breathy, sounds as he stimulates you through your high. You grip the bed sheets and squeeze your thighs together on instinct, mind going blank as pleasure pulses endlessly through your core. He holds your thighs open and continues suckling at your clit, watching you fall apart from his tongue. 

Slowly, he stops and lowers you on the bed. He lets your legs fall to his sides and presses chaste kisses over your thighs and abdomen. Your legs twitch and you let out a wrecked moan as your pussy throbs. His hands roam sweetly over your thighs, petting and soothing you to relax.

“There you go. Good girl. Wasn’t that worth waiting for?”

You make a short, annoyed, sound.

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

He chuckles and stands up, unzipping his slacks and pulling them down. You let your head loll to the side as you watch him. His cock pitches a tent in his boxers, standing proudly as he shucks his pants off. He takes his time rolling the band of his boxers over his length, no doubt enjoying your attention. You bite your lip as he strips himself down then kneels beside you on the bed. You run your hand over his thigh and give a teasing squeeze, then look up for his reaction.

“Mhm.”

“Well?” He murmurs.

“You’re big.”

He snorts, his cock stands proud and drips precum as he moves over you.

“Yeah. It’s a pain.”

“Not for me.”

“Oh? You can take a big dick right now?”

He taps his fingers against your pussy and chuckles when you whine and roll away. You glare over your shoulder as he rubs your hip.

“You’re still too sensitive, baby.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He rolls his eyes.

“My fault for giving you an amazing orgasm, I guess.”

“Yeah, how are you going to get your dick wet now? Stupid.”

His cock jumps and he groans softly at your chiding.

“I’m not.”

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

Your tone is more insecure than you wanted it to be, but there is no way to take it back now. Changbin’s eyes soften and he rolls you over to face him. His hand comes to cup your cheek as you avoid looking at him.

“Is that what I said?”

“No.”

“Right. Do you need to hear me say it?”

You nod shyly and he shoots you a soft smirk.

“I want you. I need you. You’re so beautiful.”

You laugh softly.

“Okay-”

“I want to make you feel loved. I want to take care of you.”

“Oh, so now you want to be romantic? What happened to the teasing and manhandling?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Well, that was when I was hungry, baby. I’m not thinking straight until I’ve had my fill.”

He leans down, hovering his lips over yours.

“Are you thinking straight now?” You murmur.

“No. You’re still making me crazy.”

You giggle and brush your nose against his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“Kiss you?”

You nod timidly. He chuckles as you both close the space between you and share a slow, sweet kiss. You sigh into his mouth as he pets your cheek with his thumb.

“What about now? What do you want me to do?” He asks.

“Fuck me?” 

“Hah… I don’t think you’re ready for that yet, baby.”

“Pretty big talk for a guy that got hard over socks.”

“Well. They are on you.”

“Shut up.”

You kiss again, a bit more heated. Changbin melts into your arms as you pull him closer and he grinds against the crease of your hip. You giggle as he moans and chases the friction a second time.

“Can’t fit your big dick in my pussy? Just gonna hump me like a dog instead?”

He groans and raises his hips up, his cock still hangs and drags over your abdomen.

“You’re so rude. I’m being so sweet to you.”

“Gonna cry about it?”

“Would that turn you on?”

You shrug and give a teasing grind against his thigh. He curses softly and drops his head.

“Don’t make me beg, I might really cry then,” You laugh and he whimpers, “Please?”

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

You giggle and roll away for a moment to grab lotion from your bedside drawer. When you turn back he shoves his face into the crook of your neck and lets out a shuddery breath onto your chest. You clutch his head close and kiss his forehead as he props his leg over yours. You lube your fingers then slip them between your bodies and around his length. He jerks his hips impatiently as you stroke him slowly.

“y/n…”

“Yes, baby?”

“F-Fuck…”

“You like that?”

“Mh-hm.”

He pants and pulls you closer as you work your hand around him. He curses and throws his head back to gaze up at you. Your touch slows as you watch his lips part in a small whimper.

“Please,” He breathes, “I’m so close.”

“You’ve been such a good boy.”

He nods and cries out in frustration as you slide your hand up his abdomen. You scratch your nails over his chest and gently direct him.

“Wanna come? Go ahead, Binnie. I want to see you touch yourself.”

He makes a choked noise and leans up to brace himself over you.

“That’s not fair,” He takes a shuddery breath, “I helped you.”

“I am helping,” You pout, “What? Are you saying you can’t get off? This isn’t enough for you?”

He looks down as you dip your fingers between your legs and play with your clit. He curses at the soft sounds that escape your lips. He steals another kiss and slowly begins stroking himself over you. You giggle and murmur quiet encouragement against his lips as you lazily pleasure yourself.

“Wanna come, Binnie? Wanna come on my pussy?”

“Y-es…”

He kisses you again, hard, as his movements become faster and uncoordinated. You cup his cheek and allow the fingers between your legs to graze absentmindedly over your sex. He slowly breaks away and gazes into your eyes as he works himself to release. His eyes fall shut and he groans your name.

“Come on, baby. You’re almost there.”

“Fuck,” He gasps.

He jerks himself through his climax, moaning desperately as he spills his cum over you. You watch his expression intently as milky streaks fall over your abdomen and crotch. You glance down and spread the sticky substance between your fingers, then look back at him. He watches you through fluttering lashes and pants into the shared air. Then, he smirks and leans down to share a wet kiss. When you part he kisses your cheek then collapses on top of you, nuzzling your neck.

“I love you.”

You scoff.

“I make you jerk off to me once and that’s all it takes for you to fall in love? You’re pathetic.”

He whines in protest.

“I loved you before that, bitch. And, I’ve jerked off to you many times-”

“Ugh, you freak…” You respond with no animosity.

He laughs breathlessly and heaves a tired sigh. “I mean it. And not just the masturbating part.”

You snort and listen to his labored breath slow then settle into a tranquil rhythm before breaking the silence.

“I know. I love you too. Even if you get turned on by socks.”

Changbin laughs and squishes his face against your cheek. You turn your head and press a loving kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” You mumble before granting him another kiss.

“Mhm… I will… later.”

You gasp as he goes to pull you closer and gently keep him at an arm’s length.

“Ah, I’m dirty.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You laugh then make a disgusted noise as he pulls your hips together and kisses your neck. You melt into his arms and let him cradle your head to his chest. You sigh and nose sleepily at his shoulder.

“You better clean me up.”

“M’yeah…”

“M’serious…”

“Mh-hm…”

You relax and doze off embracing each other.

You wake again hours later. No light peeks in from the window, the only thing illuminating your room is your desktop screen. The red numbers of the 24-hour clock beside your bed tell you that it is midnight. You fight your way out from where you are tightly tucked into bed. Changbin’s shirt covers your figure as you sit up then slip out of bed. The shirt falls just above the top of your knee socks, leaving a sliver of skin peeking out. You finally notice Changbin, seated in your gaming chair and just wearing your headphones and his boxers, focused on the game playing in front of him. He has cleaned up the desk and his jacket is folded neatly over the back of the chair. You watch in silence then tiptoe over as the match finishes.

“What are you doing?”

He jumps and throws his hand over his chest as he looks at you.

“y/n!”

“Why are you playing my game?”

“... No reason.”

You take the mouse from him before he can queue and open your profile. He smiles sheepishly when you gape at your stats.

“You brought me up five levels?”

“Did I?”

“I didn’t know you could play.”

“What, you really think Felix leveled up all by himself?”

You blink as you process his words then grin and fall into his lap. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss his cheek.

“Thank youuu.”

“Don’t thank me, just get better so you don’t have to play so much.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault! All my teammates suck.”

“Mhm, that’s what they all say.”

You roll your eyes and rest your head on his chest.

“Still, I appreciate it.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

“Wanna show me how much you appreciate it?”

You smirk.

“Yeah. What do you want me to do?”

His thumb glides down your clothed leg then back up again.

“You don’t have to do anything, baby.”

“I don’t?”

“I’ll just let you have this seat and then I’ll take care of the rest.”

You stand and watch him rise then turn to fall to his knees as you fall back in the chair. He smirks and pushes his shirt up out of the way, then draws your legs over his shoulders.

[chloeangelic]

update 3/26/24

Hey, long time no speak! I’m here to quickly inform you all about two things:

1. I have permanently removed all of my writing from here because I’m getting increasingly freaked out by chatbots, tumblr farming content (as if opting out will do anything), and all other creepy and nefarious use of AI to steal writers’ work. Writers and other creators are treated like absolute shit on here and I feel too protective over my own work. A lot of my masterlist also didn't feel representative anymore, and knowing it was all here was making it harder to write. I’ve felt sort of chained to my tumblr account, so for my own psychological wellbeing I just have to cut it off. 

My current writing is on my AO3 and I am regularly updating it there, however a lot of my old stuff has been privated cause I’m not happy with it at this point. I have backups of everything, so if there’s a specific piece of writing you miss and that you can’t find on my AO3/you can’t access AO3, please message me on discord at chloeangelic and I will make it available for download/send you the file! 

2. I will not be returning to this tumblr in any capacity, not now and not in the future. I will not stick around to answer messages either, so if you’re reading this and want to talk, I have logged out permanently, and the only way to get in contact with me is on discord or in my AO3 comment section. I go back and forth on deactivating this account, and it might happen in the future, so be prepared for that possibility. 

In case you didn’t know I left tumblr and you’re feeling like the pikachu meme right now, feel free to read this. 

I hope you’re all having a great year, and I’ll see you on AO3! <3

[cosmiccrushes]

A Crow Underwater

Rook x Lucanis || 5.5k words

on ao3

summary: Crow Rook and Lucanis' first meeting during the Sea of Blood quest, from Lucanis' perspective.

notes: I have half a mind to keep writing this Rook (my og mage Crow Rook) and Lucanis into a longer form fic (maybe a series?) I do have a whole backstory planned for her that I think could be fun to explore but ahhh idk

also humongous shoutout to @ datvtranscripts on tumblr for their incredible work cataloging datv dialogue, massively helpful for this fanfic writer <3

~~~

Lucanis snaps the neck of the last Venatori cultist, letting their body thump to the stone at his feet. Spite’s wings dissipate at his back. 

Someone speaks behind him, voice lilting in an almost playful manner. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here.” 

He turns to the two individuals who are entirely out of place in this underwater prison cell. Their unexpected arrival provided him with just the distraction he needed to burst from the crystal the Venatori had come to him in and dispatch them. He studies the new arrivals through narrowed eyes. One, a dwarf and the other, a Dalish elf, judging by the tattoos feathering around their eyes. 

“Who are you? Who sent you?” His voice is gruff with disuse. A year locked away with nothing but a demon for a conversation companion would do that. 

It's the elf who speaks again. “My name’s Rook. House de Riva. I’m here to bring you home. She’s Harding,” the elf jerks their head towards the dwarf whose hands tighten on her crossbow. 

A fellow Crow? House de Riva. That makes them one of Viago’s. Has his grandmother sent them to retrieve him? The day's surprises continue for Lucanis. “House de Riva. You're a Crow.” 

“Last time I checked.” The elf peers over their shoulder at an ominous groan from the prison’s walls. It appears the sounds of clashing Venatori and demons that Lucanis heard echoing through the Ossuary have resulted in a bit of structural damage. “We need to escape. Then we can talk.” The Crow, Rook, says, bringing their attention back to him. “I’m here to help. I’m breaking you out of here.” 

“Only one of you’s a Crow?” Lucanis is baffled by this situation.  

“And you’re possessed by a demon.” They sound curious, not judgemental, as their eyes trace the empty space around him where Spite's wings had been moments ago. 

“It's complicated.” Lucanis supposes he should get used to people looking at him like he's an abomination. Only, this Rook…doesn't. Their gaze stays open and curious. Their partner's discomfort goes unhidden. But if Rook is alarmed by the presence of a demon-possessed assassin, they don't show it.

“Caterina promised us a mage-killer if we broke you out of here.” Rook says mildly. 

“I can still work.” 

“Good. Because I’m pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We have to get moving.” 

“Rook…” The dwarf looks to the Crow, her mouth pulled taught with wariness. “He's possessed.”

“It's fine, Harding.”

“Rook-” Harding tries again.

“I said I can work.” Lucanis bites out. 

Harding glares at him. “And I’ll listen to whatever she says,” she gestures with her crossbow at Rook. “But I don’t trust him.” The last bit she addresses towards the elf. 

“Understood.” Rook nods. “And we can discuss that later. Right now, I’d really prefer not drowning at the bottom of the sea.”  

“I can’t leave yet. The Venatori have a vial of my blood. I cannot leave it in their hands.” He notes the staff at Rook’s back, marking her as a mage. She will understand better than any the gravity of a mage who owns your blood. 

“Okay.” 

“And I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan.” Lucanis locks eyes with Rook. “You know what that means. Crows don’t break contracts.”

“All right. We'll help,” she agrees easily. “But in return, I want help killing some things.” 

“I’ll owe you.” Lucanis vows, noting the vagueness in her request. But a contract is a contract. Whatever things need killing, Lucanis would oblige. And if Caterina had sent her for a deal, Lucanis would never refuse. 

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over.” She pulls blades from her own belt, tossing them to Lucanis. “Let’s go. So, first order of business?”

“Blood first, then my target. Calivan. The prison warden.” Rook immediately takes the lead as they exit his prison cell. Lucanis follows and this provides him with a chance to study his mysterious Crow rescuer.

She's a wisp of a woman. Lucanis does not mean this derisively- he himself is of small stature and it serves him well as an assassin. But he has entire inches on her. She must make deadly use of that in their line of work. As they slink through the corridors of the Ossuary, Lucanis observes the fluid lightness of her steps and knows he’s right. A target would never hear her coming. Her long, silvery blonde hair falls over her shoulders in two, tightly woven braids.

“Where do we find them? Calivan?” 

“In the tower. There’s a bridge.” 

“Not anymore,” Rook replies and Lucanis wonders just how bad of a state the Ossuary has fallen into. “We’ll have to find another way across.” 

A flurry of motion ahead of them as Venatori mages descend upon them in the chamber outside of his former cell. Lucanis refuses to even harbor thoughts that they will not escape this watery hell. He will not go back to that cell now that he is free, even if he must die instead.  

“Good. Mages. My specialty.” Lucanis is so eager to have a blade back in his hand, to cause pain to the Venatori that Rook and Harding are barely needed in this fight. Spite lends his wings and Lucanis stretches his muscles for the first time in a year. He gets the distinct impression that Rook is deliberately hanging back– whether to study his abilities or to offer him a bit of vengeance, he is unsure. 

Rummaging through the pockets of the slain Venatori, Rook raises a key, her triumphant smile spreading wide. “All right! One of them has a key. Must be my lucky day.” 

Lucanis raises an eyebrow. “You have an odd idea of luck.” He glances pointedly at their surroundings. 

Rook shrugs. “Well, I’m not dead yet. Neither are you. And actually, given the circumstances, that probably makes your luck better than mine.” She winks at him. Lucanis is suddenly very aware that these are the first true conversations he’s had with anyone in months. He’s not quite sure he’s doing it right. Is it possible to forget how to talk to people? 

They move forward through the Ossuary. Lucanis wonders how his grandmother finally found his location and why it was this particular Crow she sent to retrieve him. Not a Crow from House Dellamorte. Not a Crow he had even met before, as far as he could remember. And despite the brevity of their acquaintance, Rook imparted a feeling that she was not easily forgotten.  

“So, the Crows sent a mage to free their mage-killer?” 

“No. They sent their best.”

“Did they?” Lucanis is genuinely curious how things may have changed within the Crows during his absence. Who has risen in the ranks, who has fallen. Had his cousin, Illario, moved closer to First Talon?

Rook raises one eyebrow at him, the other scrunching with what must be amusement as her lips curl up at the edges. “No. They sent who needed you and who came looking at exactly the right time. Although I am good.” She winks at him yet again. Lucanis searches his memory trying to recall what it means when people wink at you.   

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Two blighted elven gods have broken free of their Fade prison and want to blight the whole bloody world. You're the Demon of Vyrantium. You're the mage-killer. Hopefully god-killer is in there somewhere too.”

“Blighted gods?” Lucanis must have heard her wrong.

“Yeah. I know, it's a lot. Just what the elven people need.” There’s a hard edge pressing against her words. “So about your target?”

“Calivan. The warden of the Ossuary. He oversees everything here.” 

“Where do we find him?” The dwarf– Harding– asks. 

“He’ll be in the most fortified part of the Ossuary, but first, we have to find where they’re keeping my blood. I cannot touch Calivan until it’s dealt with.” 

Their conversation is interrupted when they enter a new chamber and a swarm of Venatori pop into existence around them. Even as they fight, Harding keeps one eye trained on him, her distrust evident. Still, she is deadly with her bow– her arrows do not miss. 

And Rook– Rook is an artist, raising her staff like a brush against canvas. She paints death over the Venatori and effortlessly falls into step beside him, no longer holding back. Perhaps Lucanis has grown poetic during his isolation. Or maybe, he is simply moved by the welcome familiarity of fighting alongside another Crow. It has been too long since he had a taste of home. Regardless, it is apparent that Rook wasn't being overly braggadocious about being good. She wields her magic with all of the finesse and grace expected of a Crow.

They proceed. Striking down Venatori as they go. Rook pauses when they move through a chamber that served as a workshop for Zara’s tormented creations. She examines the evidence strewn across tables, a strained expression on her face. “Wait… Were they torturing demons? How? Why?”

“They didn’t all start out as demons. Zara made sure they ended up that way.” Lucanis states bluntly. The blood stains would explain his point well enough.  

“Zara?” Rook hasn’t looked away from the workbenches. 

“Zara Renata. There might be a higher-ranking Venatori somewhere, but I don’t know of one. This place is all her.”

Rook stares solemnly at the tables a moment longer. The stillest Lucanis has seen her yet, like the suddenly smooth surface of a lake that normally ripples with currents. Abruptly, she turns her attention to the Venatori crystals blocking their path. She smashes them, her mouth set in a harsh line, her eyes gleaming with a stony anger. A dam broken, an undulating eddy of motion as she cuts through the Ossuary. 

“Corpses possessed by demons. Watch out.” Harding warns, nodding to the undead shambling up the path ahead. 

“Zara Renata’s work. This place exists just for her to make new, worse kinds of demons.” 

“I think I’d very much like to meet this Zara. Show her some of my work.” Rook watches the undead as they take a diverging path around. Attention snapping away as she states, “Venatori ahead.” 

“Mine.” Lucanis steps up, determined to take his pay in blood today. Rook makes space for him. More blood mages crawl out of their rat holes behind them. “Mierda. These guys. Let me hit him first, then you can take him down.”   

“With pleasure,” Rook hums beside him. They fall into sync again, Lucanis’ pulse racing with the adrenaline of long overdue kills. 

Rook steps over the corpses of the dead Venatori and Harding quickens her pace to walk alongside Rook. “Rook. You sure about this? Abominations…” Harding's tone conveys her feelings on abominations. 

“We made a deal with the Crows to bring him back. And don't forget that it's gods we're up against.” 

“Right. Well, abominations never end well. Just remember I warned you.” 

Rook doesn't respond. Lucanis grits his teeth at the way they discuss him as if he's not here. One thing he can say he knows about Rook now though, is that she will complete her contracts– regardless of what she finds on the other end of it. 

The ground shakes beneath them and a macing creak echoes through the Ossuary, stopping them in their tracks. 

“I don’t like this!” Harding exclaims. 

Rook has her arms held out at her sides, steadying her feet. “Can’t say I’m a fan either.” 

Lucanis watches a stream of water trickle down a wall. “We may not have much time.” 

They reach a chasm where a bridge must have once been. Rook stares frustratedly at the open air they need to cross. “Damn it, there’s no path through here.”  

I. Can make. A path. From the Fade. The demon speaks in Lucanis’ head. 

“What?” Lucanis forgets that speaking out loud will draw attention. 

Let. Me. Pull from the Fade. 

“What are you-” NOW, Spite yells. “Fine.” 

“What is it?” Rook asks, considering him with a softness in her eyes.

“He says he can get us across.” 

“Who is ‘he’?” Rook leans slightly to the side to peer around Lucanis, eyes flicking back to him in question. 

“The demon. He says there’s something here. Something he can grab hold of in the Fade. It’s close.” 

“By all means.” Rook waves her hand and stands aside, looking distinctly unmoved by the fact that Lucanis has just confirmed speaking to a demon inside his head. 

Lucanis allows Spite just enough rein to reach out. He’s shocked when the demon’s magic manifests an entire chunk of stone as a makeshift bridge for them. 

“Wow.” The awe in Rook’s voice mirrors his own. “The demon pulled all of that from the Fade?”

“I’m as surprised as you.” Lucanis tries not to think too much about all the demon could do if left unchecked.

They enter another workshop area where Venatori mages and demons brawl. 

“They’re fighting? But the Venatori made all these monsters, didn’t they?” Harding asks. 

“Blood mages. They never learn. Zara can summon all the demons she wants, but they don’t have to obey her.” 

“And it doesn't look like they plan to,” Rook quips before plunging into the fray. 

The ghost of a smile flutters across Lucanis' lips before he charges after her. 

Rook rolls her head side to side, stretching out her neck after the last blood mage– the Fabricator, Lucanis recalls their moniker– drops to the ground, lifeless. “What did Zara want all these undead for?”

“Nothing. Those are the failures.” So many failures. Lucanis' stomach turns at the innocent life lost within these damp halls. He may not be innocent, but he lost life here too. 

“If those are the failures, what does success look like?” Rook questions. 

“She took the ‘best’ results out a few days ago. But some of the demons she created are still here.” 

“Calivan. You said he’s the one in charge?” Rook pauses her exit from the room to look back at him. 

Lucanis shakes his head. “No. He’s a lackey. He runs this place for a powerful magister. He was my target a year ago. Now we both want him dead.” Again, Lucanis feels compelled not to hide what he is now. It almost feels like he's challenging her. This Rook says she needs him to fight elven gods, says she's here to bring him home. But what home could a demon-possessed assassin hope to have? The fighting he could do, but he would have her clear about what exactly it is she's bringing back to Treviso.

“‘We’” meaning…?” Rook trails off expectantly. 

“Demons don’t forgive.” 

Rook’s eyes roam over him. “Neither do Crows.” She pivots, resuming her quick, sure pace. 

They draw nearer the chamber with Lucanis’ blood vial. “We're getting close.” 

“How are we supposed to find this thing?” Harding asks him. 

“I know it’s here. We can smell it.” The thing lurking within him has heightened his senses. 

Entering into an expansive room, Lucanis identifies that the vial of his blood is locked behind a Venatori crystal ward. He informs Rook. 

“If I never see another Venatori crystal…” Rook says darkly. She immediately begins to wind through the room, smashing crystals with a swipe of her staff. Lucanis gets the impression that she is not a very patient person. He imagines that it has probably earned her reprimand in House de Riva. No Talon would allow actions borne of recklessness, but especially Viago.    

In the center of the room are more tables strewn with corpses. 

“Look at what's left of these people… they were tortured. What a terrible way to die.” Harding shakes her head. 

“Very few people survive Calivan’s ‘rehabilitation.’” 

“You did.” Rook says simply. 

Lucanis peeks at her, but she continues her prowl around the room, hunting for crystals.

Rook smashes the last crystal warding the room. She sweeps out a hand in a grand gesture to Lucanis, bowing slightly at her waist. There is a mischief about her that again has Lucanis' lips twitching on the hint of a smile, such a strange feeling after a year of only horrors.

Lucanis’ eyes lock onto the blood vial at the far end of the chamber. “There. That’s the one. It has to be.”

Rook’s graceful steps lead her to the container. Lucanis joins her. She looks at him, shrugs, then shatters the vial with her magic. “All right then, that’s done. Now for our contract.” Lucanis doesn’t miss the way she says ‘our’ contract. Since she appeared before him, she has been fully committed to assisting him. She hasn’t questioned his motives or monitored him out of the corner of her eye like Harding does. Is she reckless? Or has he simply earned her trust so easily because he is a fellow Crow? And not just any Crow. Lucanis is well aware of the weighty pull associated with the House of the First Talon, House Dellamorte. 

Lucanis guides them through the Ossuary’s halls to its heart– where he believes the warden to keep office. His fingers itch to put a blade through Calivan’s heart. They reach a lift, filing inside. 

Harding again voices her concerns in a low, warning tone. “Rook…” The two must know each other well for Harding need not say more to express her thoughts to Rook.

“It’s us against gods Harding-”

Lucanis doesn’t particularly want to hear what Rook will say next so he interrupts. “I am right here, you know.” 

“It’s fine. We can talk about something else.” Rook shoots a pointed glance at Harding. “What’s Caterina like?”    

Lucanis is surprised by the question, even more surprised that he doesn’t know how to answer it. “After so long in this pit… I barely remember.” 

“You’ve been down here for a year?” Rook cranes her neck to speak to him behind her. Her braids slide against her leathers. 

“Mmm,” Lucanis grunts in response. What else is there to say?

“Is there anything we need to know about Calivan?” Harding asks. 

“You want to hear about his torture methods or something else? We didn’t chat.” 

“He might be turning those torture methods on us very soon, so,” Rook’s shoulders shrug noncommittally. She doesn’t rise to Lucanis’ spiteful bait tossed at Harding, though Harding glowers at him.  

The lift stutters to a halt and they are emptied into a cavernous room. 

A voice echoes across the space as they step fully inside. 

“Ugh, this was entirely unnecessary. Zara and her little jests. ‘He’s already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won't this be ironic?’” The man scoffs. “Hilarious. And now look at the mess you’ve made of my facility. She always leaves me to clean up.” 

“So this is Calivan.” Rook sounds unimpressed. 

“He is.” Lucanis confirms. “The target I was sent for a year ago. A Crow never abandons a contract.” His fingers tighten around his blade, well, Rook’s blade. He looks forward to reuniting with some of his own.  

Rook calls out. “Calivan! We’ll help you with the clean up. I think we’ll start by taking out the trash.” A vicious smile twists her lips and then she strikes.

Lucanis falls into the rhythm of the fight. A dawning awareness crests over him that if he is to continue working with Rook, he may have to get used to racing into battle after her. He might be more disgruntled about it if she didn’t wield herself so masterfully. 

Lucanis ignores the savage jabs Calivan attempts to distract him with. What words could hurt him more than the horror of having a demon possession forced upon him? 

Rook, on the other hand, grows increasingly annoyed with Calivan’s incessant insults– despite none of them being directed at her. Upon realizing the need to destroy the barrier protecting Calivan and beginning their coordinated efforts to do so, the prison warden screams at Lucanis, “You will return to your chains!” 

Rook snarls as she toils to bring down the barrier. “Ma halam! You will return to dust!” 

Calivan’s barrier falls and his enraged shouts summon a flood of demons to the chamber. Rook meets Calivan’s rage blow for blow. And despite Harding’s obvious misgivings about him, she too fights fiercely. When a Pride demon stands before them, they do not falter. 

Calivan’s desperation grows as he weakens and their group gains ground. “No! I will not be defeated!” 

“Sorry! We took a vote-” Rook snaps between swings of her staff. “-decided you die today! I’m sure you understand. Being an arrogant prick and all!” Spite guffaws against his skull and a grim satisfaction grips Lucanis. He’s never been particularly crafty with his words and finds that he relishes Rook’s lashing tongue. 

With a final blast of Rook’s magic and Lucanis’ blade through his chest, Calivan is no more. 

Lucanis releases a long held breath as he stands over his contract. “The Crows send their regards.” 

Rook breathes deeply beside him, tucking her staff at her back. “So, we got your target.” 

“Yes. The job’s done.” Lucanis has waited so long to say that. 

Beside him, Spite inhales. Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet. 

Lucanis grinds his teeth, staring hard at the demonic manifestation. He must not hear Rook attempting to get his attention.  

“Lucanis… Are you all right? Lucanis? What are you looking at?”

When Lucanis finally registers Rook’s question, he turns to her. She is watching him, head tilted inquisitively at an angle. 

Careful. They know. We’re not right.

Lucanis looks back to Spite, then at Rook. “You cannot see him. I wondered.” So, the disturbing likeness of Lucanis that the demon manifested as was only visible to him it seemed. Mierda. Was that a gift or a curse? 

Rook’s head is still tilted at him. Her eyes shift from Lucanis to the vacant air beside him where Spite stands hidden from her sight. But she doesn’t look afraid nor concerned. “We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else.”

Harding nods vigorously. 

“Agreed. I think…it’s time I got some air.” Lucanis feels a nervous thrill run through him at the thought. 

Rook offers him a small smile. “Agreed. A Crow underwater… “ A shiver runs through her. “No thank you. I’m ready to get out of this place.” 

Lucanis returns her smile, the muscles in his cheeks twitching. He cannot recall the last time he used them. “Imagine how I feel.” 

***

The boat glides through the canals of Treviso. Lucanis' heart is in his throat as his city unfolds around him. He had been so close this whole time… He looks back to the rest of the boat's occupants and discovers Rook already watching him.

She smiles, gentle and friendly. “Welcome home.” 

The first warmth Lucanis has felt since being locked in the Ossuary floods through him. Home. 

They climb the steps to the Canatori diamond and he knows from the tense set of Rook's shoulders that he's not alone in sensing something is wrong. Rook glances at him, eyes tight with worry. He gives her a sharp nod. 

Teia’s voice reaches his ears first. “Maker…” 

Lucanis steps into a mess of a room. Broken furniture, strewn papers. Viago notices them first.

“Lucanis?” The Fifth Talon’s eyes flick over him and then to Rook at his side. Viago's clenched fists relax. 

“What happened here?” Lucanis has never seen the Diamond so disheveled. 

Illario slams his fist on a table. “A message. From Zara Renata.” His anger softens as he adds, “I can't believe it. You're home.” 

Lucanis can't reconcile Illario's former words. “Zara… Her people got this close?” 

“The woman who runs the prison?” Rook looks up at him for confirmation. 

“The Venatori witch who captured me.” 

“Revenge for the breakout, maybe?” The skepticism in Rook's tone matches Lucanis' own. How could Zara have moved so quickly? 

“Where's Caterina?” Lucanis searches the faces in the room, but finds his grandmother's missing. His stomach roils with apprehension.  

“She's…” Teia bows her head, her voice thick with emotion.

Viago steps up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulder. “The Venatori got her in the confusion.” 

“I get one of you back, only to lose the other.” Illario sighs.

His grandmother… the mighty, unshakeable First Talon… no, it could not be. 

Rook's tender voice at his elbow grounds him. “Lucanis… I'm so sorry.” 

Lucanis is grateful for her simple words, spoken with earnestness. Her presence also reminds him of Caterina's last request of him. “I need to work.” 

“Are you sure?” Concern squeezes Teia’s eyes. “You should take some time.” 

“I don't need time– I need a target,” Lucanis says harshly. 

His cousin addresses him. “You just got here, and already you want to leave again?” 

Lucanis meets Illario's eyes, willing his brethren to understand. “Caterina gave me a contract. I'm not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that's done… I'll come home.” If his home would still have him, when they learned what he has become.

“I'll return him in one piece.” Rook tells Illario. She sounds as though she wholeheartedly believes it, that she will act as a protector to the, now literal, Demon of Vyrantium. This Crow is a peculiar one. 

“Thank you.” Illario inclines his head towards Rook. Then says to Lucanis, “Cousin, when you find Zara, I want– I need– to be there.” 

Viago interjects. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side and now Venatori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you-” 

Teia stops him with firm words. “No, Viago. Zara came for us here. She took Caterina from my house. You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. VI and I will hold down the fort.” 

“I'll give her your regards, Teia.” 

Teia lifts her chin. “For Caterina.” A chorus of “for Caterina” sounds around the room. Teia's eyes drop to Rook. “And you be careful. Or this one-” A nod towards Viago. “-will lose his head over revenge, whether he admits it or not.” 

Viago huffs but doesn't deny Teia's words. “Do not make a mess of this contract,” he throws at Rook. 

Rook rolls her eyes at the Fifth Talon. Lucanis’ eyes widen at the sight and he waits for Viago’s reprimand but it never comes. “Yes, Viago.” Rook’s tone borders on disrespectful, but still Viago does not react. Lucanis stares between the Fifth Talon and Rook in confusion. 

Viago scowls at Rook momentarily, then directs his frown at Lucanis. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something to him. Instead he glares at Rook one more time, his mouth clamping shut in a hard line before shaking his head and walking away. Teia smiles at Rook before following Viago.

Lucanis very much wants to ask Rook what vital piece of information he’s missing that allowed her to walk away from that interaction unscathed, but Rook’s already moving away. “Let’s go. It’s time for you to meet everyone else.”   

*** 

Lucanis isn’t sure what to make of the Lighthouse. The eluvians were a fascinating bit of magic and the Crossroads were downright bizarre. There’s a confounding peace about the Lighthouse, but Lucanis does not trust a place borne of the Fade. Spite is far less wary, seemingly comforted by the closeness of the Fade– if a demon could even be comforted.

Lucanis’ introductions to the rest of Rook’s team had been made and he had, predictably, been met with skeptical looks and guarded expressions. Bellara– the Veil Jumper and ancient elven artifact expert– seems the least distrusting of him. Her and Neve– a Shadow Dragon detective from Minrathous– sit at the large dining table behind him discussing his possession. Lucanis leans against the fireplace mantel, staring into the crackling flames. 

“They’re the same thing. Mostly. Kind of.” Bellara is explaining. 

“Except one will manipulate you. Or kill you. Or both.” Neve replies. 

“But how do you get rid of them?” Lucanis attempts to not sound as frustrated as he feels.  

“Um…” Bellara’s hands flutter against the table. Lucanis suspects he already knows the only answer the Veil Jumper will be knowledgeable of. He’d come to the same conclusion himself while locked in the depths of the Ossuary.  

“What’s everyone talking about?” Rook draws his attention– and the demon’s, he notes with interest– as she enters the dining hall. 

“Spite.” Lucanis answers through clenched teeth. 

“The demon in Lucanis.” Neve clarifies. “When a person gets possessed, the demon usually takes control.” 

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just…molds them. However they want.” Bellara adds. 

“I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though.” Spite bristles at Neve’s words. 

“Well, there’s one way. But it’s..well…we’d have to, um…” Bellara stammers nervously. 

“You’d have to kill me.” Lucanis finishes. 

“There’s got to be another way. That can’t be the only solution.” Rook’s hands come to rest on her hips and an unyielding glint sparks in her eye. She looks as if she dares the world to disagree with her declaration. “Can’t we reason with Spite, maybe? Persuade it to leave?” Spite perks up at Rook’s question.

Lucanis gapes at the Crow mage who wants to have a chat with a demon. “Talk doesn’t work on Spite.” As the words leave his lips, Lucanis beholds with horror Spite manifesting beside Rook. He has never had to deal with the reality of Spite around other people and fear freezes him in place. 

Spite leers at Rook, a scathing smile on his face. She won’t hurt you. How sweet. The demon’s derision drips through his sentence like honey, sticking unpleasantly to Lucanis’ skin. 

No. Not sweet, dangerous. Lucanis stares into the determination solidified in Rook’s eyes. Very dangerous. If this partnership is to work, he needs Rook to be willing to stop him. Spite moves to Lucanis’ side and he tears his gaze away from Rook in relief. 

I want to talk to them. Spite demands. Lucanis ignores the demon. 

Bellara goes on. “Before we do, well, that. Let’s think this through some more. There has to be a solution.” 

“I have people in Minrathous I can ask, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” 

Rook nods at Neve. “All right. So what’s next?” Rook asks the room at large. 

Spite growls in frustration. Let me talk to them! I want. To. Talk. To Rook! Spite lashes out in Lucanis’ mind and his head cracks to the side. He feels blood wet his nose and he grunts in pain. 

“Lucanis!” Bellara exclaims as she and Neve spring out of their seats. 

Lucanis holds up a hand to them. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Rook’s fists are curled at her sides. “Don’t pretend this is all right. It wouldn’t be fine if another person did it.” 

She’s angry for him, Lucanis registers. He softens at this. “No, but there’s nothing I can do about it. If it were another person, I could solve this with a knife.” 

“Why did he do that?” She asks. 

Lucanis will absolutely not tell her that the demon wishes to speak with her. His skin crawls at the familiar way Spite said Rook’s name. The demon has never said anyone's name before, not even Lucanis’. “Throwing a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Perhaps he needs to learn what happens to Crows who throw tantrums,” she threatens. 

Lucanis smiles. “I would prefer not to relive those lessons.” Rook’s closed fists loosen. “Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.” 

Rook’s eyes jump back and forth between his own. “I don’t like leaving you alone with a demon. I…” 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Lucanis reassures her, though he’s not sure it’s entirely true. 

“Lucanis..” 

“Please.” He needs to get her– and everyone else– away from Spite until the demon calms down. 

Rook nods and gathers the others to leave.

As the door to the dining hall falls shut behind them, Lucanis addresses Spite. “You’re not speaking to any of them so forget about it.” 

Rook. Wanted to. Talk. To me!

There’s her name again. It grates on Lucanis’ nerves. “Yes. To ask you to leave.” Lucanis spits. 

Spite hisses, but falls silent. Lucanis closes his eyes, the fire in the hearth warming his eyelids. It’s true. Rook had thought to reason with a demon on his behalf. Lucanis sighs, peeling his weary eyes open. He heads towards a door at the back of the dining hall, opening it to find a long, narrow pantry. Oddly, a cot is already tucked into the far corner. Lucanis sinks onto it, letting his head rest against the stone wall at his back.

Rook will have questions for him eventually. But for now, he soaks in the fact that she respected his request, that she trusted him enough to leave him alone. He mulls over his own questions of what that could mean for a man who has truly become a demon.  

[multifandomfanficss]

It’s About Time

Ed Nygma/The Riddler x Reader

Prompt: Ed offers to help you with time management when you tell him you’re stressed at work. Your conversation is interrupted by an attack on the GCPD by the Maniax.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, cannibalism, r*pists, abuse, and general graphic violence. Gotham typical violence. Mental health struggles. Sensory issues and meltdowns common with autism. Panic. Near death experiences. Claustrophobia. References to being buried alive. Nightmares.

A/N: I’m rewatching Gotham and I didn’t realize the missed potential for hurt/comfort the first time I watched this show 7 years ago. My work load has been really heavy lately, but this show broke me out of my writers block and I made time for the writing bug. This takes place in the middle of Ed’s Riddler arc. He hasn’t fully become the Riddler yet, but he has already made his first kill. The reader has qualities of an autistic person, but is not explicitly said to be autistic. I accidentally code a lot of my characters to be autistic because I am, but this was more intentional to reflect Ed’s autistic coding. Feel free to read into it or not! You don’t have to be autistic to read and hopefully enjoy this! Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

“I’ve been so stressed lately.” You sigh. “It’s like I can’t get anything done that I actually need to get done.” You stand in the hallway of the precinct talking to your friend Ed. You were stressing about this case and Jim Gordon was making you go through hundreds of old files for him. You were never part of the real action, but the horrifying crime scene photos and evidence you had to pull through everyday was taking a toll on you. Gordon’s time crunches never helped either. You understood that lives were often on the line, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“What can some people never get enough of and others say is too much? What has the ability to fly when having fun or is stuck completely frozen when you need it to move?” He smiles. You stare at him blankly. You had not been getting enough sleep. You loved hearing his riddles, but you were never the best at giving him the answers. It was so hard for your mind to keep track of it all. “Do you give up?” He asks.

“My brain just isn’t braining right now.” You laugh. “What’s the answer?”

“Time.” He beams, happy with himself. “You should try to implement a better time management plan. You look tired all the time. It’s like you’re not even sleeping.”

“Thanks, Ed.” You give a dry laugh.

“You know what I mean.” You nod in an agreement with him. “You might be the only person who usually knows what I mean.” He says, fiddling with his fingers and the buttons on his coat.

He was right. Nobody quite seemed to get him, but nobody quite seemed to get you either. You had always felt this odd draw to him that you could never quite explain. Truthfully you think you have feelings for him, but you always bury them. He saw you as a friend and he really needed a friend. Besides he had been pinning over Kristen since before you even got to the precinct. You had mixed feelings towards her. On one hand you felt bad for her. She was always getting mixed up with shitty boyfriends who treated her poorly, but on the other hand she had a mean streak. You never liked how she treated Ed. It was like he wasn’t a person with feelings to her and that made you so angry.

“You’re right. I haven’t been sleeping.” You tell him.

“Why is that?” He asks.

“We live in Gotham. With the terrifying shit we see everyday, I don’t know how anyone sleeps.”

“Are you having nightmares again?” He asks, his face painted with concern.

“It’s fine. It’s just work stress. It’s just this case. I’m fine.” You smile. It wasn’t a real smile. Your smiles always came so naturally around Ed that he knew something was off. He was about to press when you heard gunshots coming from down the hall. Your body immediately froze like a dear in headlights in the middle of the hallway.

You’ve had violent people in the precinct before and it always made you nervous, but this was different. The Maniax were on the loose and you knew they were too unhinged to care about survivors or bargains. With Jerome Valeska at the helm, along side cannibals, rapists, and murderers you were terrified. They’d escaped from Arkham days ago and already managed to murder dozens of people. This was far too close to the action for you, as you heard Jerome’s laugh bellowing down the hall from the bullpen; a laugh you remembered from one of your early cases at the precinct. You had felt bad for him and tried to help him when his mother died. You will never forget the laugh he let out when Jim realized he wasn’t as innocent as you’d thought. It ran a chill through your spine.

Everything started moving too fast when you realized you were being pulled down the hall quickly. Once you realized you were holding hands, you tightly grasped Ed’s hand, not wanting to be separated from him. He brings you further down the hall into the ME’s lab.

“W-where are we going?” You stutter. It’s like your mouth can’t keep up with your racing mind.

“Do you trust me?” He looks at you trying to stay calm.

“Ed, what are you doing?” You’re panicking. He can tell. It’s not hard to tell, as your hands fidget and your breathing is heavy. You’re trying to stay calm.

“(Y/N), I need you to trust me.” He places his hands on your shoulders in an effort to ground you with the pressure. You close your eyes and nod, hesitantly. You do trust him.

Ed runs to the cold lockers and opens one, checking to see if it’s empty. He finds a dead body inside. You cringe. Seeing bodies is rare for you and you’re still getting used to it.

“Oh dear… okay… second times the charm…” He mumbles to himself trying to find an empty locker. “Bingo!” He smiles, finding an empty one. The wheels start to turn in your head.

“No! I’m not getting in there!” Your panic increases. Ed shushes you.

“This is our best chance. I promise I’ll let you out as soon as I can.”

“We won’t be together?” Your eyes start to burn. You try to keep back tears. You’re shaking.

“We won’t both fit in the same one. I’m gonna go in the one above you-“

“No no please I- I don’t wanna be by myself! Please don’t leave me!” You cut him off and beg him. Ed awkwardly rubs his thumbs across your shoulders where he places his hands again, still trying to ground you. It’s awkward, but it’s still somewhat calming.

“I’m not leaving you. I would never leave you. I’ll be right next to you the whole time. I promise. I need you to trust me.” You’re not sure if it’s because it’s life or death, or if it’s because it’s Ed, but you reluctantly let him help your shaking body into the mortuary cabinet. When it comes time to let go of his hand and close the cabinet, you don’t want to. Despite quickly running out of time, he knows he needs to be patient. He knows how hard this is for you. He’s always known you’re a bit claustrophobic. He had no idea one of your worst fears was being buried alive. Being stuck in a cold locker wasn’t too far from either of those things. He can hear footsteps far down the hall. The Maniax were never subtle. He kisses the hand he’s holding quickly before closing your locker and climbing into his own. You were surprised by the kiss, but you couldn’t think about that right now and what it could have meant. Your mind couldn’t keep up. He had to leave his own locker unlocked, unable to properly close it from the inside, but he locked yours to make it look more convincing.

When Ed heard you cry, he began to whisper, hoping he could be loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough for the Maniax to not notice. “It’s okay, (Y/N). I’m still here.” It was enough to quiet your sobs. Tears silently streamed down your cheeks. Ed’s voice had a certain gentleness to it when he spoke to you. He was being especially gentle now. You had seen him angry, upset, anxious, energetic, but his calm voice was reserved for you. Even in this moment when he was admittedly not very calm, he was trying his best to mask his own fears to keep you safe.

You always reserved parts of yourself for each other; parts of yourselves that the other person enabled you to be. You were never as bold as you wanted to be, but when people were rude to Ed you stuck up for him. He brought out a more confident version of you. For Ed, he knew you struggled with staying calm when you were stressed, upset, anxious or scared, even when you were happy. All of your emotions were so big and you rarely knew how to contain them. He tried to stay calm because he knew you saw him as a calming person in your life. He liked being your hero when everyone else only saw him as a weak, odd, nuisance. He also liked that he could read you and that you were honest with him. He trusted you and it helped keep the voice in his head at bay. He didn’t have to question himself with you. He didn’t have to take advice from the voice in his head.

You tried to keep your meltdown as quiet as possible when you heard footsteps approach. They were heavy, not ones you recognized. You knew it had to be one of the Maniax, probably the cannibal. You tried to make your breath as quiet as possible. After what you assume was a poor sweep of the room, the man leaves.

After what seems like hours of being trapped in a corpse you finally hear sirens and then chatter. You hear Ed climb out of the locker above you. He opens your locker and you let out an audible sob.

“I think they’ve gone.” He says, pulling out the drawer to let your body get some much needed air. You start gasping and sobbing, shaking on the drawer of the mortuary cabinet. Your body jolts up. You just want to get away from the locker.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” Ed catches your body, as your start to fall from the drawer to the floor. You sit on the floor and cling to him, sobbing. At first awkward, he runs his hand along your back, trying to sooth you with the repetitive motion.

“I felt like I was dead- like- like I was gonna get buried alive-“ You gasp for air, sobbing between your words. Ed shushes you.

“We’re okay. They’re gone.” He promises.

You hear fast approaching footsteps. Your brain is moving too fast to decide if the footsteps are familiar or not. You just bury yourself further into Ed’s chest.

“Detective Gordon is here.” He informs you and you relax only slightly.

“Nygma, are they okay?” Jim asks.

“No mortal wounds, they’re just a bit shaken up.” He lets him know.

“You two should probably still get checked out. I need to finish scanning the building for everyone else. So far we’ve got 9 cops dead in the bullpen and… and the commissioner is dead.” He says. It’s almost like you hear Jim, but you don’t. Your mind can’t keep up with anything that’s happening.

After a while you find yourself sitting, waiting for Lee to check you out. Ed had been pulled away for a few minutes to do his job. He didn’t want to leave you, but you assured him you were fine. You didn’t feel fine, but you knew they needed him. As long as you could see him on the other side of the bullpen, you were reluctant, but okay with him stepping away. He left his jacket draped around your shoulders. It helped to be surround by his smell and warmth.

When it was time to go home, Ed guided you to his car. You hadn’t spoken much, but at least you’d finally stopped crying. The car ride was quiet. The only thing that filled the air was Ed’s occasional hum with the radio. Neither of you quite knew what to say. It was a bit ironic considering usually nobody could ever get you two to shut up. You didn’t speak up until he turned onto your street.

“I don’t want to go home.” You said quietly, feeling the panic rise again at the thought of being alone at home again.

“That’s understandable. Would you like to stay at my place?” He asks. You nod, silently. He flicks his turn signal and starts the drive to his place.

“Welcome to Château Nygma.” He smiles, turning on the light. You still have his jacket wrapped around your shoulders. Despite the terror you’ve been through today, his smile is refreshing. You don’t question how he can stay so seemingly sane in times like these, but you’re just glad somebody is. You need that. Maybe you should have questioned it, but you didn’t. He has a nice apartment. It’s not too big. Why would it be for a man who lived by himself? It’s just the right size with cool windows and a comfortable setup.

“Do you want something to eat? I’m a good cook.” He smiles. You don’t know how he can continue to smile, but you’re glad. It starts to make you feel safer. It’s nice to be in a locked apartment with just you and Ed. It’s nice to be in a quiet, secluded place, but not feel alone. It’s far better than sitting on your bed, scared of any serial killers that could be hiding underneath the frame and jumping at any people you hear in the stairwell of your apartment, with an open case file sitting next to you, worried the killers you’re reading about could be onto you any second. Today was a very close call. Too close.

“If you’re not sure, that’s okay too.” He continues, noticing you’re deep in thought.

“Oh…uh yeah… I’m not sure what I want… It’s like my body needs things, but I’m just a little bit too overwhelmed to figure it out.” You look down, shyly.

“Do you want to just sit? I can put on some music?” He questions referencing the record player with his hands.

“That sounds okay. I think I can do that.” You nod. He puts on some quiet music, not too loud to overstimulate you and you make your way to the couch. He brings you a glass of water.

“I can imagine it might be hard for you to have an appetite given your increased levels of adrenaline today, but you should at least drink this.” You take the water from him and begin to sip it. You didn’t realize how nice cold water could feel. You drink it quickly, before setting the glass down.

“Thank you.”

Ed sits down and you gravitate towards him.

“How do you do it?” You ask.

“How do I do what?” He looks for clarification.

“Your job. There’s so much death everywhere.”

“I don’t know. I just sort of do. Honestly I think it’s fascinating…” He pauses, looking away from you. “Sorry. That probably sounds weird.”

“It does, but that’s okay. I like the fact that you’re different and you’re honest. It’s comforting. You’re a better man than all of those crooked cops walking around beating up women and mobsters alike.”

“You think so?” He asks.

“Yeah, I do.” You smile. This time it’s a real smile. Ed smiles too. It’s nice to know after everything he’s done for you to make you comfortable, you can say something to make him feel better.

“I’m sorry all of this has been so awful for you.” He says.

“I know we’re doing good and it’s important to do good in a world of so much bad, but sometimes I just wish nobody had to do it. I can’t even fathom what would make somebody what kill another person. Maybe out of necessity, but it scares me that people actually enjoy it.”

“Yeah.” Ed shifts uncomfortably. You think he must agree with you and that’s why he’s unconformable. You don’t know that he killed Officer Doherty for abusing Kristen just over a month ago.

The two of you talk for quite some time until you end up falling asleep next to him on the couch. He doesn’t mind when you fall into his lap. He lets you sleep, smiling down at you. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to wake you. He was afraid of breathing too deeply and shifting too much underneath you. He eventually falls asleep sitting up with you still in his lap.

Everything is peaceful until you shoot up screaming, in a cold sweat. You’ve had another nightmare. This time is different. You’re disoriented. You don’t know where you are. You feel hands touching you.

“(Y/N), it’s me! It’s Ed! You had another nightmare.” You look at his face to see him distraught, unsure of what to do. Your tossing and turning had woken him up. He was awake only seconds before you.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “I just want it to stop. When will all of this stop?” You cry.

“When will what stop?” He asks.

“Everything! I just want to stop feeling like this. I want to stop being afraid. I should be used to the job by now.”

“Maybe you just need more time to get used to it! I know we talked about time management earlier. I can help you with your schedule.” He offers.

“I don’t want to manage my time. I just want it to freeze. I just wish time would freeze so I could just breathe and catch up!”

Ed looks at you defeated. He doesn’t know what to say. He likes riddles because riddles always have answers. He doesn’t know what to do when there’s a problem with no solution.

“I’m sorry.” He settles with saying. “Would a hug help?” He’s just grasping at anything he’s seen people do when trying to comfort other people with problems and no solutions.

“Yes.” You say quietly, burying your head in his chest. Despite being the one to offer the hug, he’s a little awkward at first. He eventually settles in.

“Is this helping?” He asks.

“Yes.” You tell him. Of course, Ed being who he is, even now he’s still looking for a solution. He doesn’t realize he may be the solution, or at least someone to help make the problem smaller. “You always help.” You add.

“I’m sure most of our coworkers would disagree.” He laughs.

“I never thanked you for earlier today.” You say quietly.

“It was nothing.” He smiles.

“No, Ed. Keeping me safe in a life or death situation isn’t nothing.”

“I’m sure anyone would have done it.” He argues.

“No, they wouldn’t have.” You tell him.

“I’ll always protect you.” He pulls you closer, shifting awkwardly underneath you. “You know… my apartment is always open if you want to sleep with me- I- I mean sleep with me in attendance- I- I mean sleep with each other- I- I mean near each other- you know! In case you have nightmares!”

“I might just have to take you up on that. This is the first night I’ve felt okay enough to be able to maybe go back to sleep afterwards.” You smile, trying not to laugh. You don’t want him to think you’re making fun of him. Truthfully you think he’s sweet and funny.

“You should go back to sleep and since I didn’t get to make you dinner I’ll be making you the best breakfast of your life tomorrow.” He beams.

“You better.” You snuggle into him. Ed is too awkward to suggest you go lay in his bed tonight and you’re too tired to care. You spend the rest of the night on the couch together. You can save the bed for tomorrow night. You know when you wake up in the morning you’ll be coming back. It was the most sleep you’ve gotten in weeks.

Ed wakes up before you and sneaks off the couch to start breakfast. He truthfully was a very good cook. His own sensory issues with food made him very particular about how it’s prepared. You wake up to the smell of something good in the oven. Ed is nowhere to be seen, but you hear him in the bathroom. He’s talking. You knew he often talked to himself, but he sounded like he was talking to someone else. Maybe he was on the phone. You were sure you were hearing one half of a conversation.

“I told you we could trust them. They like me for me. They think I’m a good man.”

[melis-writes]

Blood Money (Tony Montana x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut) Chapter 3 – An Eye For An Eye.

Chapter 2 / Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“Your new boyfriend is in Miami." / “I’m here for Tony Montana.”

Tony's fiery gaze burned into the back of your mind but your name etched on his heart from the very moment he knew who you were. Keeping you on his mind like prayer, Tony wastes no time in attempting to squeeze himself out of every interrogation at the Cuban migrant camp he and Manny are detained in. Like a power move claiming he knows you, Tony's beckoning you to meet him once more in your hometown with bold claims striking the attention of your father–one of the most notorious, wealthy businessmen of Miami–with one claim being that of love.

[WARNINGS]: None!

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Oh my goodness, a LONG time coming and the chapter update is finally here at last!! 😭💀 I'm thrilled to update this fic again and share it with the Tony girlies! Battling writer's block and life getting super busy was a chore but I. AM. BACK and writing! And yet I must break everyone's heart again by saying this update of Blood Money officially marks my temporary hiatus of Al fics outside of The Godfather universe. 💔 I will now solely be working on my Godfather fanfics until I'm finished so I have ample time and opportunity to write more consistently and update fics even more often than I ever have. I'm definitely not abandoning this fic and I will finish it someday soon! For now, let's dive back into Tony and Celeste's story!! 🥺🤞🏻

With a taste for success and dollar bills, Tony Montana’s drug empire grew in vast wealth, power and influence by your side as the kingpin’s lover. From sharing an intimate history in Cuba, you and Manny Ribera were the only ones to believe and support Tony from rags to riches. Embroiled in the same lifestyle and sharing enemies, you and Tony come to build your empire and world together with the threat of it collapsing from the inside. As partnership turns to betrayal and thrill to danger, you find yourself in-between ultimatums and sacrifices for the man you love.

'I'm always in the right, man. Always am.' The shit-eating grin over Tony's face spreads equal amounts of tension and frustration throughout the interrogation room; keeping the officers on edge for word back from your family knowing Tony could potentially be a protected individual under the Navarro family while thinking at the very same time that Tony could be bullshitting everyone just to waste their time.

Tony sits all too comfortably in front of the officers with his arms crossed, all the more amused watching them huff quietly to themselves and glower back at Tony every few minutes.

"So--" Tony attempts to start a lively conversation on his behalf.

"You shut the fuck up, Montana," the first cop points his finger at Tony. "Don't say a fuckin' word."

"We're not playing with you," the second cop scowls. 

"Alright, man. Alright," Tony shrugs his shoulders loosely, "sheesh. I keep quiet when people talk on the phone, like Mama taught me, okay?"

Letting out another shaky sigh of irritation, the officers exchange a glance amongst one another, knowing well enough that if they've bothered the Navarro family for no good reason, it'll result in a guaranteed suspension without pay and likely following up with getting fired. 

Then again, there's always the possibility that it could be Tony finding himself in hot water with the Navarros due to his cockiness and stupidity, and if that means having Tony out of the refugee camp and no longer able to be a nuisance, then it'll be both a best case scenario and a relief for the officers involved. Still, it's all too much to consider at once.

"Tell the supervisor," the first cop mumbles, "he needs to know what's going on."

"Will do," the other sighs, taking a seat back at his desk to grab out his notepad.

Ignoring Tony outright, the first cop moves his stool over to the telephone by the desk and sits next to it before beginning to dial the Navarro family reception line.

'By heart?' Tony's eyes flicker with interest, noticing how the officer has your family's number memorized by heart—rendering him surprised and amused at the same time. 

'So they know her,' Tony thinks to himself. 'She not a nobody. She a somebody. I got her name on the line for me. Just for me.' 

This means more to Tony than you can already know, even if all you'll ever do is show up to spit on his face and blame him for wasting your time. The satisfaction alone is everything for him.

Both officers continue to ignore Tony and avoid making any sort of eye contact with him; murmuring ushered words to one another and pressing through more numbers on the telephone as it rings.

Only mere moments after does Tony notice how tense the officer on the telephone gets by the way his muscles jerk up in response to the telephone being answered by a monotone-voiced, middle-aged man speaking out.

"Navarro residence."

The very individual answering the phone would be your father's advisor and right-hand man, Gabriel.

"Cuban Detention Center, Officer Frank speaking," the cop says politely, clearing his throat. "May we please speak to Mr. Navarro?"

There's a short pause on the other end of the line. "Do you have a request or appointment booked in advance?"

"No," Officer Frank answers quietly. "Um, ahem—this is in relation to immigration and detention. There's a gentleman here claiming he was requested by name from a potential--" Frank scowls over at Tony. "Sponsor." 

Gabriel's tone of voice grows considerably agitated. "I trust you have a good reason for wishing to bother Mr. Navarro. You will not hear it from me."

"Greatly appreciated," Officer Frank awkwardly replies as Gabriel begins to transfer the call to your father's personal telephone.

Fully aware of the telephone conversation ongoing with Gabriel, your father—Darren Navarro--is two stories up in his penthouse—still in his Versace morning robe, smoking a Cuban cigar.

His first words to Officer Frank once the line transfer is, "You better have a good reason for reaching my personal number, Frank."

"Oh yes sir, o-of course," Frank stammers. "I apologize, sir. I didn't mean to interrupt your day, but this is urgent."

"So you say so," your father is unmoved by the sudden sense of urgency. "I suppose it is coming from the immigration and refugee department. I've sponsored nobody, so what is all of this?"

Officer Frank's skin drains of color as he nervously exchanges a glance with his colleague, glumly shaking his head. "Um, sir, there was a mention of your daughter's name by a Cuban migrant."

Your father raises a brow, leaning back on his velvet chaise. Your last trip to Cuba and mentions of "Tony Montana" and "Manny Ribera" easily come to Darren's mind. 

"Interesting," Darren muses. "And what is this individual's name?"

"Tony Montana," Tony speaks up loud and clear, grinning. "And with my best friend, Manny Ribera."

"Shut the fuck up!" The second cop hisses, almost jumping out from behind his desk to hit Tony.

Darren's all very well aware Tony is in the same room and must know who he is by now, having heard everything. 

"Uh huh," your father chuckles. "I see."

"Sorry, sir. I'm so sorry," Frank scoffs, swallowing hard.

"Stop your whining," Darren rolls his eyes. "I heard the man loud and clear. This is no request for me but for my daughter then."

"The migrant claims to know Celeste Navarro personally, sir." Frank clears his throat.

"Yes, he does. That much is true," your father nods.

"May we speak to Celeste, sir?"

"No need," Darren brushes off the request, glancing towards his bedroom door. "Celeste will soon be on her way to greet both gentlemen personally.

"This man--" Frank begins, but is abruptly cut off and corrected by your father.

"Men," your father clarifies, refusing to exclude Manny. "There are two of them after all, so Celeste will see both. She knows both of them, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Darren blows out the smoke from his cigar around him, resting his cigar between his fingers as he admires the afternoon light glistening over his gold rings and jewelry. "Treat these men well. I'm aware of the reputation your detention center has and its demands. 'Gentle' is not in your vocabulary so be respectful. These are friends of the Navarro family and I expect them to be treated as such."

"Yes, sir..." Mortified, the officers stare in shock at a smirking Tony before your father hangs up on them.

~

Giving a drawn-out sigh, you roll your eyes in annoyance at the back cover of the gossip magazine you’ve been reading; already questioning why you bother with the tabloids just to entertain you.

Flipping back to the front cover of a bikini model on Miami beach, you rest your chin over your fist, wearing a flowing, pastel pink satin nightgown—laying on your stomach and dangling your feet, attempting to beat boredom.

Frank Sinatra’s “All By Myself” plays softly on your white and gold decorated record player, a compliment to the similar colors lavishly decorated over your bedroom.

Practically the size of a house’s first floor, your bedroom itself spans 1,500 square feet and is fit for a princess, covered in various shades of pink with a glimmering diamond chandelier above you.

The very king-size bed you lounge upon is adorned with a bubble-gum pink cashmere and quilt duvet and six silk encased pillows, a polar bear throw in the center of your bedroom upon the marble floors striking attention to the wall fixtures and architecture of the bedroom taking inspiration from the Palace of Versailles.

You furrow your brows in annoyance at the magazine in your hands, only to have your thought suddenly interrupted by the sound of your father knocking on your door.

You peek up in interest, brushing a curtain of your hair back. “Come in.”

“Hi, darling,” your father enters your room with a warm smile—holding a glass of iced rum in one hand and concealing something in his fist with the other. “Didn’t think I’d be giving you good news so quick, eh?”

Chuckling, your father opens his fist and lightly tosses your car keys over to you.

Reaching your arm out, you snatch the car keys mid-air—staring at your father in confusion. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Your new boyfriend is in Miami,” your father says with a laugh. “Immigration services at the Cuban refugee camp called me just earlier.”

“Huh,” you blink, rubbing your temple as your memory recollects, hitting you all at once.

“I never say goodbye either. I say you’re gonna remember these faces—my face.”

‘Tony Montana.’ Your face flushes red as you clear your throat, glancing up at your father. “They called you?”

“Mhmm,” your father nods, taking a small sip from his drink. “Quick to it, I’ll give them that. I don’t think that Tony of yours has been there for very long from the sounds of it. They wanted to reach you, actually.”

“Makes sense of course,” you slide aside your magazine, sitting up in bed. “Great…”

“What do you think?” Your father raises a brow.

“I’m not thinking of anything,” you give your head a shake.

“No? You sure you don’t owe this Tony and his friend a favor or two?”

“I don’t owe anyone anything,” you roll your eyes out of frustration. “But for Tony,” you clutch your car keys, “if he wants to see me, I’ll go see him. I’ll see him, but I don’t know what I can do for him.”

“Is this really someone worth wriggling out of months worth of paperwork and getting into the front of the line? ‘Cause I’ll let you decide that,” your father shrugs. 

Getting off of your bed, you eye your purse from across the bedroom. “I think I’ve already made my decision.”

“I’m sure you made the right one,” your father turns back on his heel.

“Is Tony waiting for me right now?” You head over to your walk-in closet.

“He is,” your father confirms, placing his hand over your doorknob to close the door behind him. “And I think you’re the only person he wants to see right now.”

~

‘Tony Montana…’ You let out a soft sigh, leaning your head back against your car’s headrest. ‘Again and so soon.’ With great effort, you push aside the fluttering feeling in your heart every time Tony’s name and face cross your mind; clearing your throat and putting your Armani sunglasses on.

Starting up your Mercedes-Benz 380SL Convertible and pulling out of your estate’s parking lot carefully, you focus on nothing but getting directly to immigration services—able to collect your thoughts.

Letting the warm summer breeze flow through your hair as you step on the gas, determined to know just why Tony’s got your name mixed up with the law.

You may not have taken the rugged, cocky stranger very seriously back in Cuba but you’d be lying to yourself right now if you said you weren’t a little intimidated by Tony’s timing.

‘Didn’t think my name would cross your lips so soon either… Full of surprises.’ 

Tony knows he can sit and wait in the interrogation room for an eternity to come so as long as it’s promised you’ll show up—riding off on the idea of seeing you again like a lingering high.

Driving through the streets of Miami, you tap your French tip manicure against your steering wheel patiently through every red light.

Your eyes flicker over beach-bound tourists making their way over the crosswalks, noting the impatient drivers on the other side of the intersection honking at each other and tossing cigarettes out the window; the scent of body odor and beer not far from the beach itself.

Giving your head a shake, you scrunch your nose in disgust and drive off—not far from reaching the secluded immigration center from downtown.

You arrive a little over ten minutes later, driving into the clearance section with the rest of the other drivers waiting their turn to speak with an officer at the booth and be admitted. 

Resting your arm on the windowpane of your car, you peek your head out of the window just enough for your face to be seen, and just as you expected, you’re recognized by an officer at a booth opposite from you almost instantaneously. 

‘Uh huh.’ Noticing the officer blocking the path of the upcoming car who was next in line, you slowly drive up as he gestures for you to follow.

“How is that fucking fair?!” You hear a honk and shout of irritation from the other driver, simply ignoring him and continuing to cautiously drive up.

“Blow it out your ass, buddy,” the officer rolls his eyes.

Parking your car, you glance up at the officer who only gives you a brief nod and lets you through without a single word; just one of the many perks of being the daughter of one of Miami’s most notorious businessmen.

“Alright,” you mutter under your breath as you approach the guarded parking lot, seeing another officer heading directly your way. ‘Let’s see what this is really all about.’

Taking off your sunglasses, you make eye contact with the officer who furrows his brows at you in confusion; more than likely wondering how you got in so quickly and just who you are to be taking priority over anyone else.

“And who might you be?” The officer asks smugly.

“I think you know who I am,” you reply back coyly. “I’m here for Tony Montana.”

~

As smug and prideful as he can be, Tony slouches in his seat with his arms crossed and completely relaxed as if he’s the one arranging the interrogation rather than being interrogated. 

As apparent as the officers make it seem to Tony how thoroughly pissed, exhausted, and anxious they are dealing with him, Tony reflects it with his nonchalant attitude on purpose.

“You think you’re taking some sort of vacation, Montana?” Officer Frank scowls.

 “Sure, man,” Tony shrugs his shoulders loosely. “I think my vacation is on the way.”

Ignoring the immigration officer who escorts you inside the facility as some mock bodyguard, you make your way towards the entrance of the interrogation offices where the officer gestured you to, making note of the maximum-security gates and barbed wire high walls.

Giving a small huff of annoyance and adjusting your hair, you approach a narrow hallway inside the next building and set your sunglasses on your head.

“This way, please,” the officer guiding you murmurs and politely steps in front of you.

Unphased and hardly listening, you follow the officer until you both reach an interrogation door marked “11B”.

You maintain your distance from both the officer and the door as the officer leans over and quickly knocks on the door not to ask to come in but to signal his entrance.

A wide, playful grin spreads over Tony’s face as he turns his head back to face the door—absolutely thrilled to see it about to open in front of him.

Fear simmers back into the officers the moment they spot a feminine silhouette behind the tinted glass of the door, instantly remembering now more than ever that their jobs are on the line.

Pushing open the door, the officer guiding you inside steps in first and out of your way—clearing his throat to speak out, “Miss Celeste Navarro is here, sir.”

‘Celeste Navarro…’ Seeing you before him once more, Tony’s pupils widen as a strong surge of attraction hits him—coursing through his veins.

Tony’s muscles tighten and he feels the heat of arousal trickling inside of him as he locks eyes with you, stunned and utterly admiring every inch of your figure.

Attempting to look at you with more humility than defeat or nervousness, the officers are put off by your very presence and can say or do nothing as you cross your arms; expectant and domineering before everyone else.

You’re the only spot of color in the otherwise dull room filled with grey uniforms and sweaty men; dressed in an Armani, pastel pink, cropped tweed blazer, a matching mini skirt, a white chiffon Calvin Klein blouse with a bow at your collar and four-inch glossy nude pumps. 

“There she is, she’s the one,” Tony smirks at you—breaking the momentary silence in the room.

“Ahem,” Officer Frank clears his throat, beginning to sit upright in his seat. “You know this man, miss?”

“Do I?” You raise a brow, unamused. “It feels like I’ve known him my whole life.”

“Yes, baby,” Tony mutters to himself inaudibly. ‘Come to me. You’re here now.’

“Miss Navarro,” the other officer begins to speak up awkwardly, “apologies if this is an intrusive question however this man claims to know you and—”

”And she’s my fiancée, as I was telling you. Okay, man?” Tony interrupts, rolling his eyes. “Can I have some privacy with my fiancée, man?”

‘Fiancee? What the hell is he talking about?’ Struck into shock by Tony’s words, you hold your posture and expression, but you know where Tony’s coming from and just why he’s deciding to play this game with you now.

“Yes, so what?” You snap back, noticing the playful twinkle in Tony’s eyes. “It’s true, he is my fiancée.”

‘Tony… I hope you know what you’re doing. I swear… Now is not the time to put on a show.’ 

The officers stare at each other in utter discomfort, remaining silent. 

“But I don’t recall that being anyone’s business except mine,” you narrow your eyes at them, taking a step forward to Tony.

Tony takes your soft hand in his, caressing his thumb over the back of your hand softly. “See?”

“Well,” Officer Frank swallows hard, “if that’s the case—”

Your eyes snap open in shock as Tony leans up in his seat, suddenly cupping both of your cheeks and immediately pulling you into a crushing, deep kiss.

‘Oh!’ Your lips collide over his and your eyes flutter shut in response, feeling the warmth of his tongue teasing the tip of yours in loving passion without a care—ensnared in the moment of having you as his fiancée with no intentions of letting go. 

[formosusiniquis]

my @steddiesummerexchange gift fic for @oh-stars! I was so excited to work on this prompt: penpals through childhood until they both graduate -- road trip to meet one another in person. Epistolary fics are always a favorite of mine. oh-stars is such a brilliant writer and bright spot in the fandom, I was excited to be able to write a little something for her, I hope you like it!

October 13, 1976 Dear Eddie,

Mrs. Simpson says I’m supposed to thank you for volunteering to be my partner even though you’re a fifth grader. I don’t know why I should though since now I actually have to do this stupid pen pal project. I know she only paired me with an older kid cause she thinks I’m dumb. But thanks for the extra work I guess.

She said she wasn’t gonna read these before she sent them off, just that she was gonna make sure they were a page front and back like they were supposed to be. But I don’t really believe her. So I guess I should actually write this right.

Hi Eddie. My name is Steve Harrington. I’m 10 years old because I got put in Kindergarten late cause my parents were too busy in wherever my dad does his business stuff and my au pair -- that’s fancy for babysitter who lives in your house -- couldn’t do it. My birthday is in September, almost at the end (the 27th), so I guess that’s why it was okay. When’s your birthday (Mrs. Simpson says a friendly letter is supposed to ask questions.)

My favorite things are yellow and sports. I’m the best at red rover and kickball, Tommy says it's cause I’m the oldest and biggest in our class but he’s a sore loser and couldn’t even break through the girl side of the red rover line. Do you play games? Mrs. Simpson talks about your Hawkins like it’s on a different planet but you’re just in Kentucky. It’s right across the river. I’ve been there a couple times when Dad likes me and we’ll go watch Louisville play basketball. Basketball is my favorite sport but the only outside court is at the park and the big teenagers are always on it.

When you write back you can tell me what sports and games you like. Does your Dad ever bring you to Indiana to watch stuff? The Pacers only played okay last season and they lost to Kentucky in the playoffs. Is that who you root for?

Oh and I’m supposed to ask you about school since this is like homework. I kinda already did that at the beginning, remember. Do you like English or something? Is that why you asked for extra work? Or was your pen pal last year just a super dud?

That’s front and back now.

Sincerely (cause we aren’t friends), Steve Harrington

October 25, 1976 Dear Steve,

First of all I didn’t ask to have to write a letter to some fourth grader. I was told because I’m the only kid who didn’t do it last year that I had to be your partner. I do like English but extra work isn’t fun for anybody. I’ve never had a pen pal before so you’re the best and the worst one I’ve ever had. Are teachers allowed to call people dumb at your school? Mine just look at me like a really weird bug on the road or something.

Your teacher sounds like a real pain in the side, that’s what my Uncle Wayne would say. I think it’s cause he’s pretending he doesn’t know the word bitch. She talks about this Hawkins like it’s on another planet because it’s in the Appalachian Mountains and people think everyone here is stupid and marries their cousins.

Some of them are stupid but they would be like that anywhere it’s not because they live out here.

I’m actually from Lexington though so it isn’t even my Hawkins, but my Uncle Wayne lives here and he has to watch me for a little while.

You didn’t really ask me anything good about myself. I’m Eddie Munson, I’m going to be 11 when it’s my birthday this year (Halloween the coolest birthday cause everyone gives you candy). Red and black are my favorite colors. I don’t like any sports at all, they’re all stupid but everyone knows about basketball here, it's more important than church. Everywhere has games but when you get to fifth grade you learn which ones are for babies.

I like imagination games the best cause then I don’t have to worry about anyone else playing with me. There’s lots of woods here so I can go in them and hunt monsters or dragons or be an elf like in my favorite books.

Wayne’s looking over my shoulder and says I’m supposed to ask you a question. So what’s your favorite book? Do you like fantasy, that’s my favorite but the science fiction stuff with aliens is cool too.

I know you asked about my dad but since I live with Wayne I’m gonna use him instead. He hasn’t ever taken me to Indiana cause “his truck weren’t meant to leave these hills” whatever that means. He said he roots for The Colonels but he wishes your Pacers luck this season. What’s a Pacer anyway?

Do I have to ask you about school too? I don’t think this is homework for me more like extra credit. If you don’t like English what do you like? Don’t say recess or lunch those are cheating answers.

Not your friend either, Eddie Munson

Continue on AO3

[b-1327-1]

I will only achieve freedom and peace of mind once fanfic writers stop tagging oc works as “x reader”

[esoteric-joke]

Interview with Brooklyn_Babylon

(#Interview3)

Welcome to the next interview of the Dear Writer Project. This Sunday I’m here with Gina (twopoppies here on Tumblr). Thank you so much for participating and supporting my project. It was a pleasure to interview you.

Gina about her writing process, her inspirations and what she finds most challenging about writing:

What does your writing process look like?

Oh, you're going to call me out right from the get-go, huh? LOL! My writing process is that I am a complete pantser. I hate outlining and I'm not good at it (probably why I hate it). I generally get inspired by something visual and then build a story around that. The difficulty is that often, there's a concept, but there's no real story to tell. Or, I can't quite flesh it out enough to make it worth writing. But when something connects, I go bother India (indiaalphawhiskey on Tumblr) who is my beta/BFF/cheerleader and we'll talk through the story idea.

She's super helpful in terms of pushing me to think it through enough that I can write a very basic outline of what needs to happen to get from A to B. Then, I wing it. LOL!

What does writing mean to you?

From the time I was a kid, I've always been involved in doing something artistic--from fine art, to costume design, to writing, etc. I've just always needed some way to express myself, creatively. It took me a long time to get comfortable writing fiction because there are a few people in my family who are highly respected authors, and I felt I needed something of my own to sink my teeth into. But now that I've started, I realize how much I do love it (even when I hate it), and how much it allows me to dig deep into my own thoughts and emotions and be more self-aware. Beyond that, I think I'm at my most comfortable when I feel I'm helpful/supportive/nurturing. I used to write non-fiction that gave me that outlet. It's interesting that I can see those aspects in my fiction writing, as well.

Do you know before you start writing if an idea is going to become a oneshot or a longer fic?

I can generally tell if there's enough of a story to make it a chaptered fic. Sometimes the chapters just separate naturally.

Like, in An Invincible Summer, the story unfolded so that each chapter was a different month. But I had a basic idea of how I wanted the story to progress over that time period. I think, for the most part, I let the story dictate how it's going to flow.

You don’t write (or publish) as regularly as some other writers in the fandom. Why is that and would you like to write/publish more in the future?

Part of the reason is that I have a really busy life outside of the fandom (and writing). I also don't like to write just to fill up space. And I don't want to publish anything I don't think is the best I'm capable of at that moment.

On top of that, I'm just not one of those people who has a million stories in my head. I'm very visually stimulated and there are long periods of time where I just don't feel inspired. I also second-guess myself a lot and often end up shelving my WIPs. And... even when I'm inspired, I tend to write slowly. I like to take time to make sure I'm really saying what I want to say in the best way I can. I want to grow and challenge myself with each story I publish. I just don't see a point in doing it without that sort of intention.

On which of your stories did you write the longest?

I think An Invincible Summer probably took the longest. But it was also one of the easiest for me to write because the story just wrote itself in some ways. I had a much clearer picture from the start of how things were going to unfold. At the same time, there were moments that just happened as I wrote that ended up shifting the story from what I'd originally planned.

I recently went back and re-wrote that fic, adding another 10K to flesh it out better. I'm so much happier with it (even though I loved it before), but I haven't published the updated version on AO3. Not sure whether I will.

Which of your stories came together the fastest?

The first one (Whoever, However). But it's also only 9K. Harry dropped that Beauty Papers spread and my brain exploded. The story was all there. I think Hike Up Your Skirt was probably the next quickest (again, it's not terribly long), but that one I originally wrote for the Anonymous Unicorns collection so there was a lot of freedom in getting to write anything I wanted without fear of judgment. If I could only harness that, I'd be able to bang them out!

What fic of yours was the hardest to write?

I think Literally Making Love.

It was an unusual premise, in that it's about a robot and a human falling in love, but I really struggled with whether I should make it "more" than a love story. It felt like it deserved to be "more", or that it should have more about how AI changes the world and a conversation about loneliness and the way the world contributes to that. So I kept feeling like I wasn't going down the right path with what I was writing, but India reminded me that there's just as much value in a lighthearted story as there is in "serious" writing. We all know the joy of sinking into a comfort fic, or kicking our feet at something really sweet and happy. So I let Literally Making Love be what it wanted to be and I was ultimately super proud of it. And, in the end, I think I did a good job of dealing with the ethical issues, even though I didn't make that the center of the fic.

What inspires you most while writing?

Visuals to begin with. I tend to get inspired by photos or a piece of art. Sometimes song lyrics. But visuals keep me going so I make moodboards for myself and I find quotes or pictures on Tumblr that feel like they belong to the story. I think all of my fics have a link to an inspiration tag on my blog.

And then talking through things with India.

It's so helpful to have someone who gets what you're shooting for and who has the same sense of what makes for good writing. So I'll brainstorm with her when I'm stuck or give her sections to see if it's reading the way I want it to... It keeps me going.

I don't know how writers do it all by themselves. There are times when I've read something so many times that I can't even tell if it's any good. And I do the same for her... helping her get through her writing challenges or brainstorming her projects also makes me a better writer.

In the notes of Literally Making Love you mentioned a 9 month long writers block. What helped you out of it?

Truly it was just that piece of fan art I linked in the note at the start. I'd never seen that artist's work before and this drawing of Louis building an unfinished Harry ended up on my dash and I said, "Well, I'd read the hell out of that." Sadly, no one else was going to write it for me, so I had to do it myself.

While talking about this, I pointed out that I searched a few tags of this particular trope after I finished reading Literally Making Love and couldn’t find more than a handful of fics, which I was surprised by.

Gina thinks people are put off by the idea even if there are so many ways to handle it that could make for a beautiful story.

What do you find most challenging about writing?

I was about to say finding a title, but then I realized that I only had trouble with that in two of the five I wrote.

Hmm. Honestly, I think the most difficult thing for me to write are arguments/fights.

I tend to be really passive-aggressive when I argue, and that doesn't make for very good reading. So I really have to work at crafting a back-and-forth that feels natural but also packs enough of a punch for the scene to work. In An Invincible Summer, the argument scene was pretty pivotal, and one of my betas at the time made me re-write it three times before she signed off on it.

Is there anything you can tell me about future projects you’re planning?

I'm working on another historical fic at the moment. It's slow burn and longer than anything I've written before. So that's a challenge. It's set in the 1880s between the Belle Epoch debauchery and decadence of Paris, and Victorian London's rigid social structure and moral conservatism. Basically, Harry is a French ballet dancer turned sex worker/courtesan. Louis is a British aristocrat whose father has sent him off to Paris to get "the gay" out of his system before he has to marry. There are some twists and turns, and I'm having a lot of fun trying to keep things sexy and exciting for a modern reader while still being true to the time period.

I still don't have a title, and I'm still working on a brief description to sum it up. But... I'm about 60K in and I'm having fun.

When I told Gina that that sounds like you’d have to but lot of research into it, she said:

So much research! But I actually love that part. I get really into the nitty gritty and look up everything. For example, did you know the ice cream cone wasn't invented until 1896 (although not patented until 1903)? LOL! I had to change a scene I was writing because all of a sudden, I thought, "Did they have ice cream then? How did they keep it cold? How did they eat it?" I honestly hate reading something when little details are wrong. It totally pulls me out of a story.

For the next part of the interview, I asked Gina a few questions about her works in particular.

Gina about her favourite scene she wrote, her experience with writing before writing fanfics and being inspired by her own family’s history:

What work of yours is your personal favourite?

Hm. I think Literally Making Love is my favorite because it's the most unique concept, and I'm really proud of some of the writing in that one.

Hike Up Your Skirt is, I think, my most popular one. But that's not surprising because it's complete filth.

Do you have a favourite scene that you wrote?

There's a scene in Literally Making Love when they're walking the dog through the woods, and they're talking about the concept of being lonely, and Harry realizes he's the only one in the world who can understand anything he's experienced. I just really loved how that scene came together. To me it's very visual, and it's got that kind of poetic, dreamy feeling to it that I love to find in fics (and am forever trying to emulate, but I think that might be the only time I've succeeded so far).

I told Gina that this was a scene that definitely made me think about the concept of being all alone with an experience. Here’s what she said about that:

I like moments in a story that make you stop and think about more than just the story you're reading. I think these days, we can much more easily connect with others who can understand most of our experiences very deeply. Although, I imagine if you were the only highly advanced AI robot in the world, you might have some experiences no one else has had to grapple with.

Is there a work of yours that was planned to go completely different than it came out in the end?

There are definitely moments within the stories that I never planned on, and they changed some aspects of how the story ultimately came together.

For example, in An Invincible Summer, the idea for Harry to hold on to memories by getting a camera popped out of nowhere.

In Literally Making Love, the scene of Louis painting Harry's tattoos over his scars came in a dream and that meant I added the aspect of Harry's body dysmorphia. So, little things for sure.

Whoever, However was your first fic you published. Did you write in any form before that?

I did.

I wrote non-fiction for a bunch of magazines and online outlets. I've also ghostwritten three books.

Beyond that, no. Just lengthy blog posts about two gay boybanders.

What were your inspirations for gathered on wings?

There was a photo of Louis in some sort of haphazardly layered jackets and standing in front of these graffitied walls, and it had this caption, saying that he looked like a PhD candidate at the Sorbonne. That was how the idea started.

I had wanted to write a teacher/student fic without the creepy aspect of grooming and inappropriate conduct, and somehow my comment led to Harry having been his intern and them meeting again years later.

Then, the research on all the modern art and the high-end art world informed the rest of the story.

You didn’t go much into detail how successful Harry’s art got after ‘Comrade’ recommended his art for an exhibition at the Marlborough Gallery. Was that the push Harry’s work needed to get the attention it deserved?

It was.

He'd been relying on sugar daddies to pay his way and to give him the connections to patrons. But Comrade vouching for him opened the doors to him being able to do it independently. It's that feeling of, "If I could just get my foot in the door, I could show them what I can do."

That was his foot in the door.

Gathered on wings was my first attempt at writing a chaptered fic, and there was a huge learning curve. There are parts of it I really like and parts I sometimes want to go back and re-write.

Do you think Louis’ identity in gathered on wings always stayed hidden even after they got engaged (and eventually married)?

I like to imagine that as Harry became more widely known, people became interested in his partner. And Louis would then decide to reveal his identity with a new installation that they collaborated on.

Staying hidden when your partner is famous is probably a hard thing to do.

I think so. Especially if you're in the same field. In a way, it mirrors the idea of the two of them coming out at some point.

You said in the notes for An Invincible Summer that it’s inspired by your grandfather’s life. Was that your only inspiration for the story?

It's what set the scene. Other than that, I knew I wanted to write about writing and seeing yourself in a book or feeling understood by someone you never met but who's somehow written about you and your life. The concept of feeling really "seen" is something that shows up again and again for me.

You didn’t go into any detail about Harry’s relationship with his adoptive parents after he left at the end of An Invincible Summer, even though his mother tried to support him as much as she could when he had to leave. Do you think they held contact after Harry was forced to leave or if he/they even went back as a part of H & L’s adventures?

I think Harry managed to stay in touch with his mother secretly and to eventually reunite with his sisters.

When I rewrote the story, I changed the middle sister to a brother to show another way that Harry was treated differently. So I imagine Big Jim and the little brother digging their heels in and acting like he never existed. But Harry and Louis eventually had a beautiful and extensive found family.

The end of Hike Up your Skirt (And Show Your World To Me) is pretty much open. How do you think their relationship progressed and do you think they have a chance of having a normal (as in no power imbalance or manipulation) relationship?

Mmm. I actually started writing a second part from Harry's POV where you see that Harry is also playing a game to get Louis to fall for him. I see their relationship becoming a 24/7 Dom/Sub life. I think they're both way too kinky and maybe a little too depraved to have a "normal" relationship.

Are any of your original characters inspired by people you know in your day-to-day life?

No, actually. LOL! Very simple answer. They're all just figments of my imagination.

A lot of other writers in the fandom have difficulties or are just a little uncomfortable with writing smut. That doesn’t seem to be the case for you. Why’s that?

HAHAHAHA! No, I think it’s actually the easiest part for me to write. I’m not sure why. I don’t have a lot of hang ups around sex, so maybe that helps. And I love the idea of character development through intimate scenes.

How did you come up with the idea for your fic rec masterpost here on Tumblr and how did all of that start?

I think it just started because someone asked if I could recommend some fics in a particular category (If I remember correctly, it might have been dystopian fics). And I had too much time on my hands, so I decided to make a header and write little blurbs about why I liked each one I was suggesting.

Somehow that turned into a deluge of people asking for different things and, for whatever reason, I had the time at that moment. So I made rec after rec.

At some point it was annoying that people kept asking for the same things, so I just made an alphabetical masterpost.

Is there a specific trope or genre you’d like to read more of?

Oh, that's a good question. It's so much easier to tell you what I don't like.

Honestly, to me, it's really more about the writing than about the trope or genre. But I do really like a good enemies-to-lovers fic, and if you can write a new twist on a fake relationship, I'm all in.

Do you somehow track the fics you’ve read? And if you do, can you give me a rough number of how many you’ve read?

So, I only bookmark fics I've really loved. Obviously some I love more than others, but I currently have 655 fics bookmarked.

I've been reading in this fandom for 11 years. Some I won't have read all the way through, but counting those, I'm sure I've literally read thousands.

I've gone through periods where I've just got a lot more free time at one point or another. And when I entered the fandom in 2013 there were literally so many terrific fics I didn't know where to start.

And every time you turned around there was another. It was very addicting.

Are you reading anything right now? If not, what was the last thing you’ve read?

I have a hard time reading when I'm actively writing, so nothing really recent.

The last fic I read that I really liked was Danger I Can't Hide by CelticSky. It's actually a WWII fic but set on the airbase where H is a pilot and Louis is a mechanic. It's just so well written and so well researched. Highly recommend.

For the next part of the interview, Gina answered some personal questions about her experiences in the fandom.

Since when are you in the fandom and what made you become a fan?

Since November 2013.

I took my daughter (who was 6 at the time) to see This Is Us. Did a little research to make sure this boy band was appropriate for her and then fell in love with them. We ended up seeing the movie three times, then bought it and watched it at home. She was a Niall girl.

She was my concert buddy for a while. One Direction at the Rose Bowl in 2014 was her first concert.

The weirdest comment you got?

Oh, I get some doozies on Tumblr.

I think one of my favorites was from years ago when I used to do a lot of NSFW fan art. I got an anonymous message from someone claiming to be Harry's lawyer and they were demanding I delete all of my fan art of Harry. HAHAHAHA! Like an attorney would send an anon. Or even ask for something like that. I still laugh when I think about that one.

Harry or Louis?

It's very hard to choose because they're both amazing. I'm a Harry girl from way back. But I obviously love and support Louis, too.

Harry just really inspires me in so many ways. And his music is more my speed.

Your favourite Harry era and your favourite Louis era?

Oh, that's hard. I think Harry's recent era (Harry's House) might be my favorite because he seemed so happy and so self-assured and confident in who he is as a person. He looked fantastic too. Other eras are special to me because of what was going on with the fandom at the time, or because I liked the way he dressed or whatever, but in terms of just enjoying him, I'd have to say this last tour.

Louis is a little more difficult for me because I've had a really hard time with his image over this last tour and his doubling down on babygate. I'm very happy he says he's really happy and proud of his album/tour, but if I had to pick my favorite I feel like he looked the healthiest and most at ease during MITAM promo. Oh, he looked great during his Walls promo, too.

Your favourite movie with H?

My Policeman. It was a bit uneven, but he really blew me away in some of his scenes. He understood that character inside and out.

Your favourite writer(s) in the fandom?

I actually have so many that I like, although many aren’t in our fandom anymore.

It might be easier to link you to a Favorite Authors rec I made a while ago.

What are your absolute favourite fics in the fandom?

I’m going to make it easy on myself again and link you to a Favourite Fics rec.

Is there a fic that is not necessarily your favourite but still always kind of stuck in your head ?

There are fics that aren’t necessarily the most groundbreaking or complex, but something about them makes me keep coming back to re-read. Don't kill me, but... My Favorite Re-Reads.

I wanted to give you a favorite out of that list, but as I scrolled I was like, oh wait, that one! No, that one! So... sorry, you get them all.

What makes you want to stop reading something?

Hm. So many things, honestly.

Writing where people try too hard to be poetic, continuous spelling and grammar mistakes, miscommunication as the only tension, no tension at all, characterizations that make no sense to me, fics that go on and on and on with no attempt at editing, kid fics, etc. I really have very few squicks, but bad writing is hard for me to ignore (I know "bad" is subjective, so I hope no one takes offense at that... just because I don't like it doesn't mean others don't love it).

Your favourite song at the moment?

Chappell Roan is stuck in my head lately. So, I'll say Casual (although Pink Pony Club is a bop).

Your favourite season?

Fall. Absolutely. SO fucking sick of summer.

The most unusual thing that inspired you?

LOL! I'd have to say the Vintage "Sleaze" novel that inspired Hike Up Your Skirt. It was called "Horizontal Secretary".

Who would you most like to read an interview from?

Well, I'm obviously going to say India because I think she's a great writer. But she's also so well-spoken and interesting.

I'd love to read an interview with CelticSky because I loved Danger I Can't Hide so much and I don't know them since they're on Twitter!

Lastly I asked Gina to give every work of hers a colour. Here’s the outcome of that:

Whoever, However -- yellow

Whoever, However is yellow, because when I think about it, I picture the warm, yellow shade of the wood paneling of the room they filmed in.

gathered on wings -- blue

I’m not sure why gathered on wings is blue in my head. Maybe it’s just because that’s the main color of the mood board I made.

An Invincible Summer -- green

An Invincible Summer is green because the rural Georgia setting became one of the characters of the fic. When I think about it, I see the sprawling farm, the rampant kudzu, blueberry fields, lunch under the oak trees… it just feels green to me.

Literally Making Love -- red

Literally Making Love is red because so much of the story is about what it means to be human and even though Harry’s heart isn’t “real” at some point he says to Louis, “Sometimes I feel like you made my heart too small because it doesn’t hold everything I feel for you. I feel it overflowing everywhere.” Or, maybe it’s because it has “Love” in the title. LOL!

Hike Up Your Skirt (And Show Your World To Me) -- purple

I don’t know. The first thought that came to me was purple because I pictured Harry’s character with love bite bruises.

A huge thank you to Gina again. Thank you for being so open and honest while answering my questions. I had the best time talking to you and was so invested in every work of yours.

[angieblogging]

i love you & it’s ruining my life.

masterlists & more | read on ao3

description; jennifer has been acting off lately and when you get the chance to confront her, you learn that she sees you as more than a friend.

warnings; curse words, some jealousy and yelling.

a/n; emily is briefly mentioned, this piece hopefully cured my writers block 🙏

word count; 719

— THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD!

It was like her eyes were burning a hole in your back. You could feel her gaze on you, Jennifer has been avoiding you for days, she was clearly upset and on edge, so you just let her be, but she wasn’t making it easy. Her continuous stares and snarky comments have been getting on your nerves, that combined with all the confusion you felt towards her at the moment resulted in anger.

Jennifer has been an amazing friend ever since you joined the team and when you felt her drift away slowly you did your best to figure out what happened, however she didn’t want to talk about it and everyone advised that you figure it out on your own, which was going nowhere. She just continued to distance herself more and more, day by day, until you were so sick of it you forced an answer out of her.

When Emily filled the two of you on what she and Reid learned, it was your only moment when the two of you were alone.

“What’s your problem, hm?” You turned to her, she stood slightly behind you, was silent the whole time you and Emily talked, not like she spoke much before that.

“I don’t have a problem, now can we get back go our job?”

You scoff at her words. “You stop talking to me, we stop hanging out and any of my efforts to save our friendship are met with… nothing… At least you could talk to the team. I don’t understand why you’re cutting away from me, but being a bitch to Emily is useless.” You sighed, unsure what to do if you’re shut down once again. How many times can you confront her, before it’s too much?

“If you have an issue with me, I’d like to know what is it.” You stood straight in front of her, looking her dead in the eyes. Her face was stoic, calm, but her eyes, her gaze showed it all. She was clearly upset.

“I don’t have an issue! Fuck…” Jennifer mumbles the last word under her breath as she runs her hand through her blonde hair.

“You want to act like friends? Alright… Friends are honest. So, what’s going on between you and Emily, huh? You got close all of a sudden, are you two like a thing now?”

Her voice is bitter. JJ could feel the rage building up inside her stomach and chest, she felt so angry and so fucking jealous.

“I- Is this what this is about? Me having other friends? For fucks sake!” You shut your eyes for a moment, it all felt like a bad dream, but it wasn’t.

“Friends? I ser the way you look at her and the way she looks at you, I’m not stupid or blind!”

You went silent, she was jealous, clearly. The Jennifer you knew was never like this, she was kindhearted and sweet and caring, not jealous and enraged like the version of her you were seeing right now, in front of you. Her words struck you, she wasn’t jealous about you and Emily being friends, she was jealous, because she thought there was more between you and Emily. She just stared back at you, her eyes mad, as she slowly realised how crystal clear she made it what exactly bothered her, she didn’t want Emily falling for you or you liking her back.

“Jennifer…” Your voice was now more steady and calm, you carefully looked her up and down, trying to figure out how upset she still was. You approached her slowly, she rose hands slowly as you tried to hug her, but she broke quickly, her mask shattered with one simple hug and she wrapped her arms around you as well.

Her heart was going crazy against your chest, you could feel it pounding and you could feel her breath against your neck, it was still uneasy.

As the two of you pulled away and your eyes met hers, her beautiful ocean blue eyes, you just thought one thing to yourself; “fuck it”.

So you grabbed her face gently and locked your lips with hers, you could feel her strawberry lips balm and her hand on your hip.

It was unethical, but that didn’t matter now, not to you or her.

[infraaa]

KOSA 101

Let’s talk about this. This is something I haven’t seen a lot of in my end, and this new bill may be troubling to not just us as a whole, but content creators. So, this isn’t just exclusive to AO3 anymore. This can go as far as places like Wattpad, Quotev, DeviantArt, and here.

So, to put it bluntly, if you give a fuck, listen.

What is KOSA?

KOSA (Kids Online Safety Act,) is a bill within the United States that was initially created last year with the aim of protecting youth (considerably age 16 and under,) from viewing harmful content online. It has since been updated and reintroduced by Richard Blumenthal (D-CT) and Marsha Blackburn (R-TN.) Now, on surface level, it may seem like this has a good outlook, right? Not in the slightest. This bill, while it may not be passed yet rather introduced, may take an extreme to protect youth and monitor all. Yes, I said monitor.

Not only is NSFW content bound to be flagged, which may totally censor a lot of creators not just on this platform but others, a wider band that is under this new bill is LGBT+ content. According to Senator Blackburn of Tennessee, who is KOSA’s co-author, even education on race discrimination was viewed as “dangerous to kids,” and this soon branches out to race, gender, and sexuality discrimination. This also extends out to anxiety, depression, eating disorders, etc. The bill puts itself in the hands of State Attorney Generals in order for them to use tools of censorship against our rights and safety— not just for the youth, but for adults too, as we may face (giving an example,) hurdles trying to obtain things like legal documents.

How does KOSA work?

KOSA works by acting as a censor and self filter for the internet. By the hands of Attorney State Generals, they ultimately decide what is harmful to kids online. Though, this is a dual edged sword. This would also present the loss of access to information that a large sum of people may not deem dangerous. This again extends outward towards things like depression, substance abuse, etc— complex topics without a clear agreement on causes or solutions. This means that it could also filter, and possibly censor medical information, extending outward to trans medical care as well, which may lead on to silence the transgender community further. This is a very bad thing.

There would still be features like Age Verification, but it also filters legal speech. What I mean by “there will still be features,” to give an example, Tumblr has a tab in settings where you can add your birthday, which in turn verifies how old you are. Tiktok has this feature as well. About filtering legal speech, any kind of media or information that has to do with societal ills that is held on a platform, for example, Tumblr, will enable that platform to be held liable for holding that information. But… it may seem like I’m getting off topic, aren’t I?

So let’s swing back around…

KOSA has the ability to hurt creators on several different platforms. This gives the United States Government unlimited range of control over the internet.

This linktree has at least four different petitions open for you to take action against the bill, and to contact your congressmen and women. There’s also a discord server that’s dedicated to stopping KOSA from passing.

By doing this, you are spreading your voice. You are helping millions of people nationally— creators, artists, writers, everyone.

And finally, don’t just like this post. Reblog it— it helps it spread and gain exposure.

Let’s put an end to KOSA.

[coraniaid]

Reverse Unpopular Opinion: Amy Madison

[Reverse unpopular opinion meme.]

This is an interesting one because I think there’s a solid argument to be made that the character of “Amy Madison” does not, in fact, actually exist on the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

By which I mean … look, okay, yes, obviously, there is a character in an early Season 1 episode called Amy Madison, played by Elizabeth Anne Allen.  And there’s a character with the same name in a Season 2 episode, and [in an admittedly weird coincidence] she’s also played by Elizabeth Anne Allen.  And there’s one in Season 3, and a one in a few episodes of Season 6, and one in an episode of Season 7, and all of them are played by the same actor.

But … I mean, come on.  There’s no way these can all be the same character, right?  They don’t have the same basic back story or the same relationship to magic or to Willow; they certainly don’t have anything resembling a definite personality or set of motivations or a consistent character arc.  No, surely what’s going on here is that there are several different “Amy Madisons” in Sunnydale – just like there are several different characters called Anne or Nancy on the show – and in a bizarre in-joke the writers simply decided to cast the same woman to play all of them.

Now, ordinarily, simply being written inconsistently over a handful of episodes and not having anything resembling the same personality from week to week would be no obstacle to having a few die-hard fans.  But – as far as I can tell, anyway? – there’s no “fandom Amy” either.  She never really gets mentioned when people want to talk about how all the Scooby Gang had awful mothers [even though Amy actually did, explicitly and inarguably, have a very, very awful and openly abusive mother!].  There’s very little in the way of Amy/Willow shipping going on here or on AO3 [even though witchcraft is heavily coded as a metaphor for being a lesbian and Amy, one of the first witches we meet on the show, is repeatedly linked to Willow throughout the show’s run].  There are no adorable drawings of Amy as a rat staring out of her cage at Willow and Tara (or if there are, they aren’t getting as many notes as they should be getting).  

No, it looks like most people who are still watching and talking about the show twenty-five years later have about as much interest in poor Amy Madison as the writers did.  She’s a plot device.  A punchline.  A cipher.  A blank slate.  She’s whatever the plot requires her to be to further the stories of the actual characters on the show, and she’ll never ever be anything else.  Which is a little sad, if you think about it.  I think Amy – or, well, most of the different Amys: The Killer In Me’s smirking evil-for-evil’s-sake Amy I’m not so sure about – deserved better.

[As I write this the thought occurs to me, belatedly, that I might be one of Amy Madison’s biggest fans.  Pretty grim news for her if so.]

OK. Enough stalling.  Five positive things about Amy Madison [with, as ever, the usual caveat about the comics, which I’ve still not read anything about and still don’t exist].

Witch, Amy’s debut appearance, is a solid episode!  One of that season’s best, I think (though not, of course, one of its very best).  And I think the duo of Elizabeth Anne Allen's Amy Madison (and Robin Riker as her mom Catherine) is a big part of why that episode works: no, they haven’t got a huge amount to work with, but I think they both do a pretty good job switching between evil witch Catherine and innocent victim Amy.  Catherine’s bodyswap spell foreshadows (albeit unintentionally) the bodyswap artifact that the Mayor gifts Faith in This Year’s Girl / Who Are You? and I’ll always have a soft sport for it because of that.  And I really like that the episode ends with Amy alive and hanging out with Buffy in a way that suggests that they are going to stay friends, even if we don’t see any evidence on screen that that happened.

Sarcasm aside, I’m really glad the writers brought Amy back in the second season.  To me, part of the appeal of the high school years are the recurring minor characters – I talked about Principal Snyder before, but also Jonathan and Devon and Percy and Harmony and … yes, Amy too.  The show obviously doesn’t care about her very much, and you have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to fill in the missing pieces of her story and make her arc make sense (why is she starting to do magic in Season 2?  When does she start hanging out with Willow?), but … well, I do care and I have done those gymnastics.  At least Amy didn’t end up like Marcie Ross or Buffy’s old flame Owen or any of those poor kids who must remember eating Principal Flutie. 

I’ve been reading a few old interviews Elizabeth Anne Allen gave recently (here and here, for example) which I think have some pretty interesting insights into how the character of Amy developed.  Had you ever heard there were persistent rumors at one point that Amy was going to be one of the starting regulars on Angel?  It’s mind-boggling to think about a world where that happened.  Allen seems to have put a huge amount of thought into her character, too, at least for her first few appearances, which … uh, I guess makes me feel a bit shitty about those opening paragraphs. [Not enough to delete them though…]  Also in one of the linked interviews she says that she “hopes she won’t be a rat much longer” – and that’s an interview she gave before the Season 3 finale had even made it to air, which made me pretty sad to read.  Forget appearing on Angel, imagine if Amy had been de-ratted in Season 4.  Imagine if Superstar was about Amy instead of Jonathan.

There is a second or two in Season 6’s Smashed – no more than that – when Buffy and Amy are catching up again (“How have you been?”  “Rat.  You?”  “Dead.”  “Oh.”) and you can, if you’re quick, delude yourself into thinking that the show is going to do something interesting with the obvious parallel it’s just set up. Willow has now not only brought Buffy back into the regular human world [and left her struggling to live and find meaning as a college drop out with a dead mother and an absent father last seen on screen about five years ago], she’s also brought Amy back into the regular human world [and left her struggling to live and find meaning as a de facto high school drop out with a presumed-dead mother and a presumably-now-absent father last mentioned about five years ago].  Surely this must be deliberate?  Well, no: the show doesn’t do anything with this idea ever again, because Marti Noxon had very different [worse] ideas for Amy’s character this season, but if you pretend it might be about do something like that it’s a pretty exciting couple of seconds.

The fact that “Amy Madison” exists as a (technically!) canon character means that I can write (or daydream about writing) fanfiction in which Willow has a friend in high school who is also a practising witch. One with a vague but miserable home life, who is secretly in love with Willow but too afraid to admit it (and so she keeps professing to be interested in men who she can’t possibly ever expect to date, either because they’re unpleasantly vile toward women or openly gay or both). And I can do that while, just about, pretending that I have not created the most embarrasingly psychologically revealing OC you ever heard about in your life.  Thanks Amy!